


Addicted to You

by Kittenshift17



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Possessiveness, Werewolf Mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-03-26 18:22:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13863366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kittenshift17/pseuds/Kittenshift17
Summary: An act of kismet whilst herb gathering sees Hermione interacting with an unknown werewolf. When he bites her while she is in her animagus form, he sets into motion a twisted destiny that binds them together as mates. With Remus and Sirius there to help her through, Hermione's biggest worry is finding out the identity of the werewolf who marked her.





	1. Chapter 1

****

**Addicted To You**

_By Kittenshift17_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

* * *

In retrospect, she supposed she'd been rather foolish. At least, that's what Hermione Granger told herself when she looked up at the sound of rustling in the undergrowth from where she was gathering Wolfsbane deep inside the Forbidden Forest. She had known the risks of coming here on a full moon night. She had known full-well that the wizarding world was one where there was such a thing as werewolves.

In fact, werewolves were the very reason she was there gathering the flowers blowing beneath the full moon in the first place. Hermione knew she ought not to be. That she should have left such things to people more experienced than herself. But she hadn't. Hermione had come seeking the herb beneath the glow of the full moon knowing she might encounter a werewolf. Not that she'd planned on it. She'd done her research, after all. There weren't supposed to be any werewolves in the Forbidden Forest.

Oh, she'd known there was a pack of full-blooded wolves with near human intelligence residing in the forest – the offspring of a werewolf pair conceived on a full moon night in wolf-form. She'd just not expected to encounter a real werewolf. Not since the last time she'd been chased through this very forest by another werewolf. But she knew it wasn't Remus Lupin in the undergrowth. She knew because he was transformed and harmless at Grimmauld Place with Sirius.

Hermione stiffened slowly as the rustling grew louder. She really hoped it wasn't a werewolf in the undergrowth, but Hermione suspected that her luck might have run out. Before she could encounter the beast, Hermione slipped her own human skin, taking on her recently mastered Animagus form. Hermione hadn't known what to make of things when she'd asked Sirius to teach her everything about Animagi as a means of distracting him and herself whilst they'd been cooped up in Grimmauld Place.

She'd been working at the task for more than a year, having approached Sirius with the request in the summer before fifth year had begun. She'd only mastered slipping her skin and transforming herself into an animal a month ago, in fact. Having spent the entire year at school mastering her patronus and many other techniques, Hermione had expected she would transform into the otter shape her patronus took.

She'd never expected to be able to take the form of a Timber Wolf.

Hermione had yet to actually share her achievement with anyone. Legally, she wasn't of age within the wizarding world and wouldn't be until September 19th so Hermione had been putting off mentioning it to anyone. She'd asked that Remus and Sirius – the only two people who'd known of her wish to master Animagi – keep the information quiet and when she had finally achieved the transformation, Hermione hadn't told them.

She didn't right know why, if she was being honest. She had been too shocked by her animal form to really consider telling anyone at all. It wasn't that she was disappointed with being a wolf when she changed shape – it was simply rather confusing. She'd never really much liked wolves, and when she'd performed the test to discover what she might be – back in fifth year – she'd been led to believe she would be an otter.

Now, however, as she shook out her shaggy grey coat of thick wolf fur and rose to her full height on four paws, Hermione was rather grateful for the ability to transform at all. Especially when, in the beams of moonlight scattered about the Wolfsbane-blooming clearing, a werewolf stepped from the rustling undergrowth. Hermione had spent enough time studying her own form – and wolves in general after her initial shift – to spot the differences between regular wolves and the werewolf.

She could tell based on his size that the werewolf was male. She also noted the shorter snout that gave away his lycanthropic status, and she spotted his tufted tail twitching and swishing as he approached her across the clearing on sure paws. There was a slightly more human shape to his eyes too, though they glowed an unnaturally bright shade of wolf-yellow from within his furry skull. His fur – unlike hers – was a bright and unblemished shade of white.

Hermione's own fur was mottled grey like any regular wolf, flecked with black, white and grey shades. Her fur was also much thicker than that of a regular wolf – the tell-tale sign of her being an Animagus.

She watched the werewolf warily as he approached. Hermione couldn't even begin to guess who he might be. His eyes were fixed on her as he came closer, watching her every movement and Hermione huffed out a breath of surprise when he lowered his muzzle to sniff at the basket of herbs she had discarded as she hurriedly transformed. She wondered if the werewolf had been stalking her while she'd been in human form and if he might remember her tomorrow when his mind cleared. He sniffed at the basket carefully, his eyes still fixed upon her, before his lips pulled back from his teeth and a low growl slipped between them.

He could clearly smell her human scent upon the items and in the air, but being unable to locate a human in the vicinity kept him relatively calm. Hermione remained still, watching and waiting to see what he would do as he came even closer. She perked her ears forwards a little, having studied the language of canines and how they portrayed particular emotions in order to better pass for a real wolf should the need ever arise.

The werewolf perked his own ears at her slightly, his growl ceasing as he padded closer on heavy paws. He was much bigger than her, she noticed idly when he came abreast with her. Easily half a foot taller than her in this form, he looked down his short lycanthrope snout at her for a long moment. Hermione would swear that if he were human – whoever he might be – he would be quirking his eyebrows at her, as though daring her to challenge the authority she could feel pouring off of him in waves.

It was clear to her, as she critically analysed the erect and forward pointing tilt of his ears, the way he stood at attention and the way his tail was held high and straight, that he was asserting his dominance as a canine. Hermione knew it was common practice for dogs and wolves to ascertain dominance this way, settling who was Alpha and who wasn't in a hierarchy designed to keep order among a pack. From his behaviour and his attitude it was clear that whoever this werewolf was, he believed himself to be in charge.

Hermione didn't dare to challenge him. For one he was bigger than her. For another, she was just an animagus and not a werewolf – thereby making her less powerful in this form. If it came to it that she had to fight him, she could and would do so, but Hermione didn't want to imagine the scars he would leave on her. She knew they wouldn't be pretty. She also realised he meant business when he moved even closer as she lowered her ears and dipped her head ever so slightly.

He moved in until his chin rested over her nose and across her snout before he growled in warning, the rumbling vibrations of the sound tingling her nerve endings through her entire face and down her neck. Hermione lowered her tail slightly, tucking it under just enough to submit to his dominance without challenging him. It wasn't much but it seemed to appease the werewolf because he stopped growling and instead licked the side of her muzzle before bounding away a few steps and stopping to look at her.

Hermione – who had owned a golden retriever as a girl – recognised the request to play without needing to have studied canine behaviour. Wagging her tail at him a little, Hermione realised she wasn't about to get rid of the werewolf in a hurry. They were pack animals and when they weren't indulging their yearning to mindlessly hunt humans, they sought others of their own kind. Hermione could tell this werewolf must believe her to be a werewolf too – or simply thought her a decent substitute.

She might not get away from him before dawn. Dropping into a play bow and wagging her tail harder, Hermione barked at him when he jumped playfully before he dashed away into the undergrowth again, initiating a game of chase. Unable to resist the urge to play when it looked like it would be fun, Hermione gave chase.

They crashed through the forest, taking turns chasing one another and Hermione gave herself over to the sensation of running as a wild animal in the forest in the dead of night. There was nothing else like it that she'd ever experienced. It was as though everything she knew – all her very human troubles – all just fell away in favour of the feel of the wind in her fur. She dashed off, following the hundreds of different new scents she could feel prickling her nose. She gave into the idea of being canine for the night and it was liberating.

She and the pale werewolf nipped and licked at one another, yapping and barking, playfully tussling with one another. He made no further attempts to show dominance over her once he'd established it. Instead he simply played as a wolf, causing Hermione to unleash a whuffing sort of sound – the lupine equivalent of laughter – when he dashed after a squirrel, barking at it madly when it reached the safety of a high branch and tittered at them both in annoyance.

When dawn began to approach, Hermione subtly began directing their games back towards the clearing where the wolfsbane bloomed, needing to collect her basket and the few herbs she'd managed to properly harvest before she'd been interrupted. It wasn't easy going. She had a vague idea of how to get back there, but the forest was thick and dark – filled with twisting paths and confusing scents. It took her almost until dawn had broken to find familiar land-marks, her werewolf friend still trotting along next to her. Just shy of the clearing – just as down broke over the trees and slowly beginning to lighten the gloom, Hermione turned to the werewolf.

Some part of her didn't want to know who he was. Didn't want to hang around the watch his painful transformation back to human form – where he would undoubtedly be naked and uncomfortable. She stopped at the edge of the wolfsbane clearing and licked the side of his muzzle affectionately before stepping further away from him, meaning to leave him there and be on her way.

A low whining growl was the only warning she had before she suddenly heard the rush of paws behind her. Hermione had the wind knocked out of her when she was viciously pounced on from behind, his superior weight sending her sprawling to the forest floor beneath his paws. Hermione let out a whimper of pain when sharp lycanthrope fangs tore into the fleshy muscle where her shoulder met her neck on the right hand side.

Whining beneath him, Hermione could do nothing to prevent the attack as he bit her harshly, tearing through the thick fur adorning her body and breaking the skin underneath, marking it forever with the signature of his fangs. He ripped into the flesh and Hermione just knew she would be left with a scar.

And then, as suddenly as he'd attacked, he jumped off her, spinning quickly to face her. He stood before her until she retook her feet, glaring at him reproachfully, still whining in her throat over the vicious attack and the unexpected show of violence. Before she could think to scold or challenge him for his behaviour he stepped even closer, swiping an almost affectionate lick of his tongue over the top of her muzzle before he was gone. He dashed away into the undergrowth and Hermione listened as she heard the crash of him bursting through shrubs.

Distantly, she heard him begin to howl and Hermione knew the transformation had taken him once more. She didn't know him – nor did she mean to. Limping slightly as a result of being bitten, Hermione padded into the clearing where her basket lay abandoned. She transformed herself back to human, pressing her hand to the wounded sight of her neck that dripped blood slowly.

It stung terribly but Hermione knew that she wouldn't be infected because she'd been animal at the time of the bite. Taking up her basket quickly and sighing over having harvested so few herbs, Hermione pressed her ripped shirt against the wound upon her neck. She took a deep, calming breath and then she took out her wand before disapparating with a sharp crack – leaving the forest and her moonlit romp with the unknown werewolf far behind in the morning sunshine.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

More than a week later, Hermione was climbing the stairs in Grimmauld Place, intending to ransack the library for some new reading material. She was just passing Remus on the stairs, smiling kindly at the werewolf as she noticed his pallor with the waning of the moon. Suddenly, Remus's hand shot out, catching hold of her arm and Hermione hissed in surprised.

She found herself jerked, quite startlingly, into his personal space and Hermione shivered violently when he leaned into her neck, sniffing loudly.

"Hermione," he asked several long and tense minutes later, "Where have you been just now?"

"In my room," Hermione squeaked, rather frightened when she stared wide-eyed into his face and caught a hint of lupine gold flashing in his eyes, "Have I done something wrong?"

"You smell…." Remus muttered, his eyes searching her face carefully.

Suddenly he dropped his hold on her as though she'd burned him, his eyes widening a little as he took two big steps back from her in the narrow hallway. As though he'd realised he'd just grabbed her and hauled her around, he looked properly contrite.

"Do I smell bad?" Hermione asked, feeling two feet tall at his reaction, subtly sniffing at the front of her jumper and then at one of her armpits.

"Not bad," Remus shook his head, "My deepest apologies for scaring you like that. I didn't mean to. You smell… like a werewolf, actually… but also not like one."

"Oh," Hermione said, relieved she wasn't offending his nose with some stench she'd need to shower off, "Erm… well actually, I think I might have an explanation for that."

Remus raised his eyebrows, looking concerned now.

"Um… Do you know where Sirius is? I've been meaning to share something with the two of you," Hermione said, biting her lip.

"I just left him in his bedroom – he's pouting about all of you returning to Hogwarts shortly even though he's been acquitted since that mess at the Ministry. He knows he'll be able to visit with all of you – he's just going to miss having the house full of you kids, I think. Harry especially," Remus told her truthfully, "Should we fetch him?"

"I think so," Hermione said smiling, "I'm sure I have something that might cheer him up a bit."

Dashing up the stairs before Remus, Hermione hurried towards Sirius's bedroom. The door was slightly ajar when she reached it – Remus on her heels – and so Hermione knocked a moment before entering.

"I told you I'm not hungry Moony – Oh… Hermione?" Sirius said. He was lying face down on his bed, his head towards the foot of the bed and a pillow cuddled in his arms. He looked like a little boy pouting over something and Hermione couldn't entirely hide her amusement. She often wondered if Azkaban had mentally stilted Sirius's maturity levels, leaving him the same youthful twenty-one year old he'd been when he'd been convicted. It would certainly explained his moods swings and his recklessness.

"I have to show you something," she admitted to both of them, waving her hand at Remus to indicate he should close the door. She waited until he'd done so before she closed her eyes for a moment and transformed into a wolf.

"You did it!" Sirius crowed from the bed, sitting up and looking thrilled for her.

"That's wonderful, Hermione. Congratulations!" Remus said, smiling widely, "And this certainly explains why I can smell wolf on you. I knew you could do it. Well done."

Sirius, meanwhile, had transformed into his dog form on the bed and begun to bark at her before leaping down off the bed and dashing towards her, tail wagging and tongue lolling out of his mouth. He looked like he wanted to play and Hermione leapt up on her back feet to tussle with him as a canine. He was as big as her, despite being a smaller breed of canine. Hermione barked at him and emitted a playful growl as she caught his ear in her teeth and shook it.

"And you've been able to do this awhile if you're already that comfortable with your lupine nature," Remus commented dryly as Hermione swatted at Sirius and then dashed across the room while he gave chase.

Hermione whuffed with laughter when Sirius decided to include Remus in their fun, bounding over to him and jumping up at him, toppling the werewolf to the floor and jumping on him wildly. He immediately nosed his way up Remus's body, barking him and head butting him playfully.

"Blimey, Padfoot!" Remus grumbled, rough-housing with his best friend. Hermione padded over on her large wolf paws before pouncing on Sirius.

Hermione didn't rightly know when she'd begun feeling so comfortable in the presence of the two older wizards. Having spent all summer but for the first week with them here at Grimmauld Place, Hermione supposed it was natural to feel comfortable with them. They were like uncles she'd never had and they'd both encouraged her to treat them as her friends even when they were teaching her Animagi.

"But wait a minute," Remus was saying as she and Sirius rough-housed in his lap since they'd yet to let him up – not that he seemed to mind very much, "I thought you did the test and it came back suggesting that you would be an otter – like your patronus."

Hermione transformed back so she could speak to him, shoving Padfoot off her chest when she found herself pinned on her back with him pinning her down – his tongue lolling out of his mouth triumphantly.

"So did I, Remus," Hermione told him, "I even performed the test again a week before I got up the nerve to attempt the transformation and it indicated I would be an otter. But then when I transformed, I was a wolf."

"That's strange," Sirius said, transforming back too until they were all sprawled on his bedroom floor in human form like children rather than two grown wizards and a teenage girl.

"I thought so too, but I can't find anything anywhere that could explain the sudden change."

"Have you tried performing a patronus?" Remus asked suddenly, his eyes watching her carefully and Hermione shook her head.

"I thought I might already be pushing my luck with my Trace since I'm not seventeen yet. I didn't want to risk getting into trouble for using anymore magic outside of school."

"Try it now, if you don't mind," Remus prompted and Hermione bit her lip nervously before pulling out her wand. She knew that with so many magical beings in the vicinity, if the magic was picked up, it might just be mistaken for accidental magic or for that of an adult.

Calling upon a happy memory, Hermione performed the Patronus charm.

"Expecto Patronum," she commanded, smiling at the silvery light poured from the end of her wand. She began to frown when the silvery mist began to form into the shape of an animal – this one much bigger than her usual playful otter. Instead, it took the form of a large wolf, bounding around the room before spotting them and play bowing to the three of them, waiting to be commanded.

"I…" Hermione frowned, "It's changed. Why has it changed?"

She looked over at the pair of wizards – both of whom were staring at the wolf of her patronus. Hermione glanced back at it before doing a double-take. For just a second she could swear the patronus looked like the werewolf she'd encountered in the forest.

"Erm…" Remus said, his cheeks turning pink as he glanced at Sirius.

Hermione saw Sirius smirk a little bit before looking at her and she realised they were thinking that her patronus had changed the way Tonks's had – as a result of falling in love with Remus.

"You don't fancy Moony, do you?" Sirius asked her, smirking.

"I don't," she shook her head, "I think of you two like the affectionate uncles I never had. I've no romantic interest in either of you. In fact, as far as I know I've not had any kind of emotional upheaval – such as falling in love with someone – that could cause this change…"

Remus looked relieved by her answer and Sirius looked at her fondly for her remark – clearly pleased that she thought of them well, as though they were family.

"I don't know of any other reason for a person's patronus to change," Sirius shrugged, "Though I suppose that it's possible the patronus changed to mimic your animagus form. Me and Prongs didn't try out the Patronus charm before we transformed for the first time so I wouldn't know if either of ours might have changed after we became Animagi."

"I just don't understand it," Hermione sighed, "I mean, I know that Tonks's patronus form changed from a jack-rabbit to a werewolf when she fell in love with you, Remus – oh stop blushing like that, I don't know why you won't just accept that she fancies you and ask her on a date. But I've not fallen in love with anyone. It just randomly up and changed."

Remus looked sheepish as he blushed slightly at the mention of Nymphadora's feelings for him.

"Well… erm… actually," he began slowly, looking like he was being forced to drink battery acid, "I, ah, might not have been completely honest about things with Tonks…"

"You sly dog!" Sirius grinned, clapping him on the shoulder and looking proud.

"No, Pads, that's not what I meant," Remus said, blushing pink now and looking away as though ashamed, "I uh… might've lied about the reason for her patrnous changing."

"You what?" Sirius asked, looking confused, his brow furrowing.

"Her patronus didn't change as a result of her having feelings for you?" Hermione asked him disbelievingly, "Because I know for a fact that she  _does_  have feelings for you Remus."

"I don't doubt that," Remus admitted quietly, "But I lied about the reason her patronus changed. It wasn't initially as a result of her feelings for me… You see, in addition to monthly transformations, premature aging and overpowering bitterness, those of us who suffer lycanthropy have another ill-begotten gift bestowed upon us by the powers that be."

Hermione frowned in confusion but Sirius suddenly looked outraged.

"You told me the Mate Principle was a load of fanciful rubbish invented by those who tried to romanticize your condition, Moony," Sirius accused.

Remus looked disgruntled.

"I lied," he admitted, "I didn't want you bastards taking the piss out of me about being a werewolf any more than you already did. You know James would have been relentless if he'd learned there was a Mate Principle that I needed to live up to."

Sirius snorted, but he looked a little like he knew what Remus was saying was true.

"The Mate Principle?" Hermione asked, blushing slightly over the idea that she didn't know what that was and had never heard of it.

"You wouldn't have heard of it because I might've, you know, accidentally misplaced all the Hogwarts library books that even hinted at the phenomenon," Remus blushed again, "The Mate Principle is a rather unfortunate and little known side effect of being a Werewolf. Whereby, in addition to being monsters who turn furry once a month, we lycanthropes also have to deal with the awkwardness of there being a Mate out there for us in the world, just waiting to be stumbled upon."

"A Mate?" Hermione asked, wondering at the inflections he used as he spoke the word, "Like… animals mate? As in copulation?"

Remus looked amused for a moment.

"Think more like Soul Mate," he told her, "However the copulation and reproduction is certainly a factor… Basically being a werewolf means that somewhere in the world, there is one person of the opposite sex, designated by the powers that be, as the soulmate of the werewolf. It's terribly rare for a lycanthrope to ever encounter his or her mate, being that there aren't that many of us, and as a rule those afflicted with my condition tend to be shunned and ostracized. We very rarely encounter our mates, and as a result have managed to keep the horrifying truth hidden rather well."

"Are you telling me that Tonks is your soulmate?" Hermione asked slowly, wondering what this had to do with her patronus and her Animagus form.

"It's much more complicated than it sounds," Remus said, holding up his hands as though to defend off their insistence that he stop ignoring the poor smitten Metamorphagus, "I don't rightly know all that much about it, but one of the biggies is that whoever the soulmate of a werewolf might happen to be, things about them change when they meet the werewolf. Meaning that yes, when Nymphadora met me, her patronus form was altered and were she to achieve Animagi – she would be a wolf. A wolf companion for a werewolf. Do you understand?"

"That you've been treating my cousin like shit, yeah," Sirius grumbled, eyeballing his friend, "And that you lied to me."

"Don't look at me like that Sirius, Tonks is thirteen years younger than me and I'm a bitter old monster!" Remus snapped, his lips twitching back from his teeth like any canine might raise his hackles. Hermione watched with equal parts trepidation and amusement when Sirius returned the expression – having spent so long as a dog whilst in Azkaban that he was very comfortable with and often prone to exhibiting signs of being canine sometimes.

"What does this have to do with me?" Hermione wanted to know, interrupting before they could begin snarling at each other, "I've not met anyone new recently, so there's no way this change happened as a result of being some werewolf's mate."

"Well, you see, while it is most common that the changes occur upon the werewolf and his mate meeting, it's not always the case. It's incredibly rare, I'll admit, but occasionally there are times when a werewolf and his mate have already met… before he was bitten and infected…." Remus looked pointedly at her, "The change to your patronus form and your animgaus form being that of a wolf suggests that you, Hermione, have fallen unfortunate victim of fate. Somewhere out there in the world – during the week between when you performed the prediction charm and attempted Animagus transformation – a man or boy that you know was bitten by a werewolf and infected with lycanthropy. Being that the two of you already know each other – whoever he is – the changes have occurred in you without you having to run into him."

"I…" Hermione frowned, "But I… Who?"

"I don't know," Remus shrugged, "With the way Voldemort has taken to punishing those who displease him by recruiting Fenrir Greyback to savage them, it could be anyone who has displeased Voldemort or even some poor sap who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"But…. I fancy Ron," she admitted blushing crimson, "And we obviously know it's not Ron."

"Another unfortunate side effect of the Mate Principle," Remus sighed, glancing at her pityingly, "Fate doesn't care that you might fancy someone else, nor does it care that the werewolf in question might fancy someone else. There is also the extremely awkward issue of both the wolf and the human within a werewolf having to accept the designated mate before things can progress…"

"Progress?" Hermione asked, looking alarmed.

"Werewolves are only able to reproduce with their designated mate," Remus sighed, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling as though he was cursing the Fates, "However, fate doesn't care that the mated couple might have years and years of age difference between them. It also doesn't care that most werewolves, like me, don't want to go inflicting themselves on the poor helpless soul fate chooses for them. As a result, the animalistic nature within tries to take over – often – with the urge to claim one's mate."

"Meaning you want to jump Tonks and shag her silly," Sirius grinned at his friend, winking at Hermione as he riled Remus up.

"Yeah," Remus sighed as he admitted to that, "But there's a lot more to the claiming that that. If I were to claim her as my mate – like my wolf wants – I would have to shag her, but I'd also have to bite her – forever scarring her body with my fangs. Not for the purpose of infecting her, either. Just as a symbol of ownership. If my wolf had his way I would run her down like prey, stalk her properly before laying claim to her and marking her forever as mine."

Hermione felt goosepimples prickle over her skin at the description.

"And then in true, animalistic fashion, I would rip her clothes off her, pin her down and fuck her into submission, cementing the bond between us with my teeth, her blood and my sperm, tying her to me for the rest of her life. From then on she would never be able to conceive children with anyone but me, just as I can never have kids with anyone but her. She would exhibit the slightly lupine traits that those bitten by a werewolf in human form are afflicted with, and she would be forced to endure the shame and horror of being stuck with me for the rest of her natural life," Remus growled out, sounding very bitter indeed, "Now tell me, does that sound like something any pretty, smart, vivacious and  _young_  witch deserves?"

"You forgot to mention clumsy," Sirius informed Remus, smirking widely as he provoked the werewolf.

Hermione didn't know who was the most shocked when Remus's eyes turned wolf yellow and his fangs burst from his gums in a spray of blood, the human ones forced from their beds and across the floor of Sirius's rooms while a purely feral and extremely possessive sounding snarl ripped from Remus's throat. Sirius, for his part, did well not to recoil from his best friend in horror, though he did look mildly concerned.

"Do you think this is a fucking joke, Padfoot?" Remus growled, "You don't have any idea what this is like. It's not just me being a stubborn git for rebuffing her. If I give in to what the wolf wants, she's toast. You might be able to forget that on the inside I'm a beast, but I don't have that luxury. And if I give in, if I claim her as my mate, she is literally stuck with me forever. But turning furry once a month isn't enough. If I claim her, the wolf doesn't just stay dormant between full moons anymore. He's right there, beneath my skin all the time and he's territorial, possessive and vicious. So much so that were I to claim her, and were you to flirt with her, I'd probably tear your arms off."

Hermione watched the interchange between Remus and Sirius carefully, slightly horrified by the sight of the blood trickling down Remus's chin and the way he wore wolf fangs, his yellow gaze glittering dangerously.

"Moony, I've seen you at your worst," Sirius rolled his eyes finally, "I'm not scared of your little show like this. Now put the wolf back to bed and talk to me like a human being or I'm going to transform and whizz on you for spite."

Remus growled again narrowing his eyes at Sirius before shifting his gaze to Hermione. His nose twitched slightly as he watched her and Hermione held perfectly still as he leaned towards her slowly, sniffing loudly. Sirius leaned towards her too, tensed slightly as though concerned he might need to protect her from the wolf glittering from inside Remus. Hermione didn't feel particularly afraid, she trusted Remus and she knew she could transform in time to protect herself before he could cause her too much harm.

"You smell like him, you know?" he told her in a low rumble and Hermione got the feeling from the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the change in his tone of voice, that he wasn't really Remus right then. Oh he was, to an extent, but not the human version. Right then he was entirely Moony – the wolf half of Remus's soul. It seemed strange to her, to know there was another persona living inside her lycanthropic friend.

"Whoever your mate is, you smell like him, as though the bond between you has already begun to form… But I don't know him. Not by scent… must be new to the change," Moony rumbled quietly, leaning even closer, his nose twitching madly. Sirius leaned even closer, looking like he meant to tackle Remus when he leaned right over and buried his nose against her shoulder, his nose pressing to the fabric of the shirt she wore.

Hermione felt a chill slide down her spine when he sniffed right over the top of the scar where the werewolf she'd met in the Forbidden Forest had bitten her right before they'd parted ways last week.

She had cleaned the wound carefully when she'd returned home, disinfecting it and rubbing some dittany into the bite. Just to be on the safe side Hermione had added powered silver to the dittany, creating a thick paste she'd smeared into the wound until it had scabbed over before she had covered it with a bandage to protect it. When she had checked it earlier that morning, Hermione had found it to be an angry looking red scar in the perfect shape of fang marks upon her flesh right in the side of her trapezius muscle where her shoulder curved upwards to her neck. The scar it had left behind could be seen from the front and the back, the ring of puncture wounds where fangs had torn into her catching over the flesh to make it visible from all angles. She'd had to begin wearing collared shirts and turtle-necks to hide the mark upon her.

"You've been bitten," Moony announced suddenly, jerking back from her as though she'd spat at him and Hermione raised her eyebrows in shock as his reaction. He'd done the same thing on the stairs when he'd taken two big steps back from her, watching her cautiously. Moony watched her from Remus's face for another long moment before his fangs retracted back into his gums, causing Remus to groan in agony as human teeth took their place once more. Additionally, blood dribbled down his chin and he clenched his fists as the teeth regrew.

Hermione watched in fascination as the partial change reversed slowly. Werewolf venom was one of the key ingredients in Skele-Grow potion for just this reason. They might age prematurely and seem sickly much of the time as a result of the condition, but their bodies had the amazing ability to regenerate bone, teeth, flesh and hair at an alarming and impressive rate. As Remus's human teeth grew back in, causing him to groan in agony, Hermione watched the yellow of the wolf bleed from his eyes, slipping away deep into the iris and leaving the greenish-hazel of Remus's human eyes in their place.

Hermione and Sirius remained quiet as the change reversed in him. Sirius reached out slowly and took his best friend's clenched fist inside his own, giving it a squeeze of reassurance until Remus looked at them again. He looked horrified by his own behaviour and loss of control, wiping his blood from his chin with the hand Sirius wasn't gripping.

"Everyone alright?" he asked quietly, looking disgusted with himself.

"I don't know why you get so worked up when Moony comes out to play," Sirius told him honestly, "He never savages us. Now… want to tell me why you think Hermione's been bitten or should we start with talk of why you're resisting Moony's attempts to claim Tonks. Aside from those you already mentioned? Or should we discuss you having lied to me about the Mate Principle all this time?"

"Hermione," Remus said slowly, turning towards he again, his hazel eyes wide with concern for her, "What are you hiding under there?"

He nodded his head towards her shoulder, and Hermione realised suddenly that she was clutching her hand over the mark on her flesh as though to hide the evidence.

"Nothing," she lied quickly, feeling panic begin to rise inside of her.

"Don't lie to us, Singer," Sirius commanded and Hermione raised her eyebrows at hm.

"Singer?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

"Well, you can't be Moony, or Padfoot," he pointed out with a grin, "But you're also a canine. If you're an animagus you need a nickname like us Marauders had. But I can't call you Shaggy for how thick your fur was, or Fluffle, because you'll most likely hit me… And it needs to be something representative of the animal you transform into."

"And you landed on Singer?" Hermione asked, baffled yet feeling honoured that he wanted to give her a nickname.

"Moon Singer," Sirius smirked, "I was going to call you Howler – but you might get a bad reputation for that one. Because you're a wolf see, and wolves sing to the moon."

"Moon Singer?" Hermione laughed, secretly delighted.

"Singer for short," Sirius nodded, "Now, what are you hiding under there? Tell Uncle Padfoot and Uncle Moony all about it."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at him before she recalled the gravity of the situation when she glanced at Remus – who still looked disgusted with himself for his loss of control.

"I erm… neglected to mention something," Hermione admitted finally, "Last week at the full moon I snuck out of the house and apparated to the Forbidden Forest, hunting for Wolfsbane while it was blooming…"

"Hermione!" Remus gasped in surprise at her admission while Sirius held his hand up and waited for her to high-five him for being so reckless.

"I know I shouldn't have, and that it was dangerous," she waved his hand away, "It's too late to change it now… anyway, while I was in the clearing in the forest I heard something moving in the undergrowth. And, knowing it was a full moon and that I wasn't supposed to be there, I transformed quickly. I figured it would be safer to be seen as being an ordinary wolf by whatever creature I might've encountered…"

"How long have you been an Animagus?" Sirius asked suddenly.

"A few weeks," Hermione admitted, "I've been practicing in my room and around the house when no one was paying attention… Anyway, he was a werewolf… the creature in the undergrowth."

"He attacked you?" Remus asked sharply.

"He?" Sirius confirmed.

"I don't know how I could tell, other than his size, but I knew he was male even before he came towards me. He erm… challenged me for dominance," Hermione admitted, blushing pink.

"You didn't fight him, did you?" Remus asked, aghast.

"Of course not," Hermine replied, "I'm not a fool. And he was bigger than me… I didn't submit much, in any case, just a little bit. When I transformed and discovered I was a wolf, I studied canine behaviour and postures so I could more convincingly pass for a real wolf… anyway, he came over to me, growling the whole time and put his muzzle on top of my head and across my muzzle. When I didn't challenge him, he seemed to want to play and I might've… you know… run around the Forbidden Forest all night with a werewolf."

"Bloody hell," Remus cursed.

"You're getting more and more like a Marauder by the second," Sirius informed her, grinning at her.

"Yes, well," Hermione waved her hand, "Anyway, as dawn approached I started heading back towards the clearing where I'd left my things when I transformed. He followed me most of the way before we parted ways – or began to. I was walking away when he suddenly pounced on me, knocking me flat to the floor and pinning me underneath him before he tore into my shoulder and did this."

Hermione pulled aside the neck of her jumper to reveal the angry red scar marring her skin.

"I treated it with powdered silver and dittany to prevent infection and heal it up properly," Hermione admitted.

"No wonder you smell like a werewolf but also not like a werewolf," Remus told her quietly, "He marked you, Hermione. Whoever that wolf was, he marked you as his mate. What did he look like?"

Hermione sighed, feeling her stomach clench with concern.

"His fur was entirely white," she detailed, "In everything else he looked like a regular werewolf. Slightly shorter snout than a real wolf. Tufted tail. Human shape around the eyes. He was smaller than you are when you transform, but not by much."

"Meaning he's probably still young – a teenager," Remus mused slowly, "Anything else you noticed about him?"

"He practically bled authority and self-assurance," Hermione told him.

"Arrogant then," Remus nodded, "Meaning that whoever he is, he's probably accepted what he is – or at least his wolf has accepted this new state and is willing to dominate as a werewolf. The fact that he's mostly likely still a teenager and that you already know him suggests he might be someone you go to school with, Hermione."

"Or someone who recently graduated," Sirius threw in.

"Delightful," Hermione sighed, "What do I do? I don't want to unwittingly be the mate of a boy I don't even know."

"Unfortunately fate doesn't give you a choice in matters like this. I don't imagine Tonks much wanted to be my mate either when she first started to experience the changes that come about from being a werewolf's mate," Remus said bitterly, "You're in for a lot more changes, Hermione."

"Like what?" Hermione asked, "This Mate Principle you mentioned, will it make me fall in love with whoever my mate is? The way Tonks is in love with you?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "It doesn't force you to fall in love with anyone and you can choose to ignore fate if you wish. For the bond to form, both the man and the wolf have to want to claim their mate. So while my wolf is all for claiming Tonks, I don't want to because I don't want to ruin her life. It will be the same for you. You've already been claimed by the wolf when he bit you. But whoever this boy is, he might not be someone who's interested in you Hermione. He might loathe you. Fate doesn't care about your past."

"Oh dear," Hermione sighed again, "What else am I likely to experience then? My animagus and patronus forms have already changed. What else will be effected?"

"Since you've been bitten you'll begin to experience some of the so-called perks of lycanthropy," Remus told her, "You might begin to notice a heightening of your senses – more so than you already would by being an animagus. You'll be able to see better in the dark. Be able to hear and smell better. Move faster. You'll get stronger physically, meaning you'll need to learn to control yourself somewhat. I can teach you."

"It won't be easy, Singer," Sirius told her seriously, "The effects will probably creep up on you and it will be hard to control. Suddenly a playful swat at Harry for being cheeky might leave bruise instead of barely smarting. If you hit hard enough you could break bone completely by accident."

"The other senses will be even worse. Hearing is the worst. You'll go from being able to hear people a few meters away to being able to eavesdrop on people from across the Great Hall. Until you grow accustomed to it, it can feel like torture. You'll get headaches a lot from the amount of noise and you'll overhear things you really don't want to be hearing sometimes. You'll have to learn to curb your responses and keep from mentioning them if you want to keep it quiet that you have canine hearing."

Hermione nodded along slowly, trying to absorb everything they were telling her.

"How am I going to figure out who my mate is?" she asked quietly, looking between Remus and Sirius worriedly.

"Well, that might be a problem too," Remus admitted, looking a bit worried himself, "Having already marked you as the wolf, he'll be drawn to you whether the man in him fancies you or not. If he were to lose control he might even… well, he…."

Remus trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"He might jump your bones," Sirius input, smirking a little at Remus's pink cheeks, "So you're going to need to be on your guard. If this guy goes to school with you the slightest thing might set him off and have trying to claim you. He might see you with Harry and Ron and grow unreasonably jealous and possessive of you. He might catch you looking particularly pretty and be unable to resist your allure."

"He might… rape me?" Hermione asked, her eyes widening in fear.

"It's possible, Hermione," Remus nodded, hanging his head as though ashamed of werewolves everywhere, "If he is as new to the change as we believe, he might lose control and be driven to claim you as his mate. Which includes bonding with your via intercourse and marking you with his sperm. If he can't control himself, you'll be hard pressed to fight him off."

"What do I do?" Hermione asked, "What if it's someone awful that I'd never want to be with? I don't want to be molested."

"Of course you don't," Sirius comforted her, tugging her towards himself and tucking her under his arm, chaffing his hand against her comfortingly, "Got any suggestions on how to field this one, Moony?"

"Honestly?" Remus asked, looking tortured, "The best route would be to try and pinpoint who he is and circumvent any situations where he might be driven to such a loss of control. It might very well be that he's not someone you're attracted to, Hermione, but you would be safer if you were to willingly… offer yourself to him…"

"That's your suggestion?" Sirius scoffed, "Shag the bloke anyway? What if it's some rotter like Snivellus? You want her to thrown herself at this git?"

"I'm not saying you should," Remus held his hands up defensively, "I'm just saying that if you want to avoid being hunted down and raped – possibly in front of witnesses, because the wolf won't care about who sees him claim you if he gets the urge – then seeking him out in private to try and come to some kind of agreement about this mess is important. Generally, from what I've been told, the wolf quiets a bit when one's mate has been claimed. Oh he'll be more wolf-like all the time, rather than just at the full moon, and he'll be possessive, territorial and snarly about some things. But he won't attack you or rape you if you're already claimed. My understanding is that once a mate is claimed, the monster within becomes focused on making sure that mate is well cared for and protected."

"What is she hates the bloke, Moony? What if she doesn't want to be tied to him for the rest of her life? You just said yourself that sealing the mateship pairs them for life and means she can't have kids with anyone but him. What if she wants to pursue her interest in Ron instead?" Sirius asked while Hermione tried not to begin hyperventilating.

"He's already bitten her," Remus shook his head, "She would already have a very hard time conceiving with anyone else."


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Hermione's head reeled with the information. How could this be? She'd woken up this morning thinking she was just going about her normal life and now they were telling her she had a soulmate out there in the world who happened to be a werewolf and might brutalise her in his animalistic urge to claim her.

The very idea made her skin crawl.

Not that she hadn't been thinking rather fondly of the werewolf she'd run into in the woods since the night of the full moon, but that wasn't the point. She'd been normal this morning and now she felt like a freak.

A freak who had a werewolf for a soulmate.

It wasn't even that she was unnerved by the idea that she might date a boy who happened to be a werewolf. She liked Remus just fine and she had a firm grasp on the realities of lycanthropy as a medical condition. Or she'd thought she did until this morning when Remus had informed her she was fated – literally fated – to be with someone who happened to have recently become a werewolf.

She couldn't do it.

She couldn't handle it. Not knowing who the man or boy happened to be made it all the worse. Good heavens, what if she returned to school and was suddenly set upon by someone she loathed? Sweet Merlin, what if it was someone awful like Cormac McClaggen or Zacharias Smith? The very idea made her want to vomit. She'd never been one to handle not knowing all the fact very well and the idea that she couldn't just go out a find some book to give her the answers to this problem was making her feel nauseas.

She  _hated_  not knowing things. Especially when they pertained to her personally.

Hermione could admit that she'd always been of the belief that people could find true love and even that soulmates might exist. It was a fanciful, romantic notion, but what girl didn't secretly hope it could be so? That there might be some Prince Charming out there in the world just for her? The  _Mr Darcy_ to her  _Elizabeth Bennett._

She supposed she could admit, privately, that she'd hoped there was some Mr Right out there for her. She'd just never imagined she'd get  _The Beast_  to her  _Belle_. She'd been rather hoping for the Merlin to her Nimue and instead she was going to be stuck forever with someone she didn't even know yet, where the only thing she knew about the man was that he happened to be a werewolf.

Sighing heavily, Hermione scrubbed her hands over her face as she laid in bed, trying to turn her mind off. She'd drilled Remus all afternoon with questions about the idea of being the mate to a werewolf. By the end of it Hermione suspected he was a little short-tempered with her, as some of her questions had been terribly nosey, she supposed. But she'd needed to know, blast it all!

She could very well step foot outside of Headquarters later in the summer or when the term resumed and she might be set upon by some terrible, raving fool who couldn't control himself as he attempted to ravish her. Bloody hell, she could be raped! Sirius had insisted on giving her lessons in self-defence without a wand, wanting to make sure that if for some reason she was set upon and didn't have her wand with her, or if she lost her wand either in a duel or in a scuffle, she might still have a chance of fending off her apparent mate.

Mate.

The word seemed to foreign to her. She'd never wanted a  _mate_. A boyfriend might have been nice. Partner, if you wanted to be politically correct. A husband, eventually, when the time was right and she was in love. But never a  _mate_. It sounded so… naughty. And silly. And… she couldn't even begin to describe what it sounded like, but she didn't like it. Every time she even thought the word she pulled a face of discomfort and disgust.

She knew she did. Sirius had been teasing her about it.

More to the point, Hermione was utterly terrified that someone was going to come strolling up to her and tell her she was destined to be with him and essentially just ruin all chances she might've had at romance. While it was certainly a romantic notion to believe you had a soulmate out there, it sort of took out the guesswork and if Hermione was being honest, that bothered her even more than the word 'mate' and even more than the notion of ending up with someone wretched.

Being fated was essentially being matched up to someone you might not necessarily care for and told to get used to it. Hermione didn't want to get used it. She wanted to be courted. Romanced. Taken on fanciful dates she could brag to Ginny about. Not ridiculous things, the likes of which Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were prone to simpering about and swooning over. She didn't want to be dragged into Madame Puddifoot's where she might get confetti in her hair.

Merlin, the idea of even trying to get confetti back out of her hair was enough to turn her off that particular fantasy for life. But she'd still like to be treated like a lady that some lovely young gentleman wanted to impress and woo into being with him. She wanted to have someone be nice to her and carry her books for her in the hallways and go out of his way to spend time with her or see her between classes. She wanted to be taken on lovely strolls around the Black Lake where they might discuss something interesting like fair rights for House Elves or the effects of switching out Hellebore for Elecampane root in a Pepper-Up potion.

She didn't want to be assaulted by some animalistic fool running entirely on hormones and instinct beyond his control. And she didn't want to just be informed, none too politely, that her wagon was now hitched to his and so she ought to just come along. For goodness sakes, she was still a girl. She still wanted to be treated like some alien creature that made him nervous and made him stumble over his words when she smiled at him. Not that she wanted a bumbling idiot.

"Utterly ridiculous," Hermione muttered to herself, pressing the heels of palms to her eyes and trying to convince herself that this was something she could rationalise. She'd been in no mood for chatting with Ginny or playing chess with Ron. And she certainly hadn't felt like dealing with the twins playing their pranks on everyone. To be honest, Hermione had retired to her room early and crawled into bed because she wanted to be alone. She needed to process this.

No, better yet, she needed to research this. Remus was an expert on the subject, it was true, but that didn't mean that his experience was the only one she might have to rely on as an example of how things might be for her.

Dragging herself back out of bed, Hermione donned her dressing gown and her slippers before she climbed the stairs up to the Black family library. No one was inside, making Hermione think that the others must all be downstairs together. Hermione didn't mind. She wasn't ready to admit to anyone else that she'd unwittingly become the soulmate of an unknown werewolf. She'd even sworn Remus and Sirius to secrecy about it.

The idea of trying to explain to Ron – the boy she happened to fancy – that even if he had pulled his head out of his rear end long enough to realise she was an eligible dating option, let alone female, there was no chance they could ever be together now made her squeamish. Not that she'd word it like that, of course. But that wasn't the point. The point was that she had a soulmate and it wasn't the boy she'd have liked and she didn't want to deal with telling anyone until it was absolutely necessary.

After all, Remus had told her that there was a very real likelihood the werewolf she'd met in the forest might not even realise they were mates. That if he was new to the change – as they suspected - he might have no idea about it all. Remus thought that she'd been marked on instinct alone and that unless she were to seek out or happen upon the werewolf again as a man, he might never realise they were mates. If he didn't know about the Mate Principle – and so few people did – then there was a good chance she would be able to keep all this to herself.

And that suited Hermione just fine except for one niggling little detail that had been gnawing away at her psyche all afternoon. Remus had mentioned that her having been marked by her mate meant that she would never be able to conceive and birth children with anyone but her mate. Meaning that if she ever intended to biologically contribute to the next generation of witches or wizards in the world, she would need to find her mate eventually.

It was utterly horrible. In fact she felt like crying.

Prying as many books as she could carry form their shelves, Hermione hoisted them all over to her favourite couch within the library. There weren't very many really, that pertained to werewolves in any way, and from the titles, Hermione was thinking that most of them disparaged the condition and were most likely going to be little more than fear-mongering tripe. Not that she was surprised by that. Sirius's family had obviously been very serious about blood-mania and their own apparent superiority. The other books within their library certainly suggested that it ought to be criminal for anyone excepting those of pureblood descent ought to have been removed from society.

Burying herself in her books, Hermione wiped at the few stray tears of devastation and frustration that slipped from the corners of her eyes over this new direction her life had taken.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"What is wrong with you?" his father demanded of him as he paced back and forth within the small room they'd been relegated to.

Draco Malfoy curled his top lip away from his teeth, annoyed by the sound of his father's drawling voice. He couldn't get the night of the full moon out of his head. It had been almost a month since he'd escaped the influence of the pack when Greyback had hauled him off to Scotland – on the Dark Lord's orders – to have him run with the pack.

It had been almost a month since he'd encountered that strange little female wolf who wasn't a werewolf and didn't seem a real wolf either. No, Draco was already suspecting that whoever she'd been, she was an animagus. He'd caught the human scent that lingered in the grove where he'd found her. He'd run in her direction in the first place because the scent of human flesh called to the monster inside his soul, demanding that he rip; tear; kill whoever or whatever possessed that scent.

When instead of a human he'd encountered another wolf, a female, Draco knew the beast inside him had pricked its ears. Admittedly, he knew exactly fuck all about being a werewolf and what it might have to do with encountering someone else in the forest or why he'd been agitated and furious since then. All he knew was that he'd run around the forest all night like some ridiculous canine instead of an upstanding wizard of pure descent and since then he'd felt like his body was on fire.

The week preceding the full moon after he'd been bitten had been fine.

Painful. Riddled with fury, rage and tears as he fought the urge to off himself at every opportunity. Filled with self-loathing and a sense of such utter disgust that he was sure the best option was to Avada himself to put his parents out of their misery and to avoid the further disgust he would face from his friends when they learned what he'd become.

But otherwise fine. He'd been bitten and turned into a monster. Infected with the taint of a terrible beast that drove him to shed his human skin and take to the forest like an animal. He was pissed off, if he was being honest. The idea of being a werewolf sickened him and he was having a hard time coming to terms with it all.

If he was being completely honest, Draco had never bothered to learn all that much about werewolves other than what little he needed to know to pass his OWLs last year. He had dismissed the notion of learning about such inferior beings as he had no intention of ever associating with one and therefore had believed he didn't need to know anything at all about werewolves or about lycanthropy in general.

And now he was a werewolf. Could there be anything more wretched? Other than also happening to be a Death Eater in addition to being a werewolf – something else he'd been forced to endure this summer. As far as Draco Malfoy was concerned the Dark Lord was an egotistical, deranged megalomaniac and if it weren't for the fact that it would buy his own untimely death, Draco would very much like to transform into the beast the Dark Lord had made him and then he'd like to rip the twisted cunt's throat out and watch him bleed.

"If you don't stop pacing, Draco," Lucius began, looking threatening now as he glared at his son for the foul snarl Draco had shot in his direction, "I'm going to personally  _persuade_  you to act civilly in this house."

Draco knew a threat for the use of the Imperius curse when he heard one.

"Why don't you go ahead and try to  _persuade_ me, Father," he retorted, "See how well the Imperius curse works on a werewolf."

Lucius narrowed his eyes on Draco's comment in annoyance. Draco knew that his father knew as well as he did that there was absolutely no point trying to curse him. Being a werewolf, it turned out, had much the same effect as being any other kind of half-breed. He was much harder to subdue via ordinary wizarding magic, much less susceptible to spells and much more prone to violence. Should Lucius try to Imperius him, Draco suspected the spell would bounce right off him. Much in the same way those Stunning spells had bounced of Hagrid the half-breed giant at school last year when Umbridge had tried to remove him from the grounds.

"Why are you pacing like that?" his father demanded rather than commenting on his condition.

The fucking coward.

His father had refused to acknowledge in any sense that his son and heir had been infected with Lycanthropy. Draco knew it was because the bastard knew it was entirely his fault Draco had been infected in the first place. It had been bad enough that he'd been expected to step-up for the Malfoy family and take the Dark Mark – killing an innocent to earn the foul brand marring his forearm – when Lucius had been thrown into Azkaban for his involvement in the mess at the Department of Mysteries. When they had managed to free Lucius but a few short weeks later and the man had been interrogated, Draco had been hauled before the Dark Lord and thrown at the feet of Fenrir Greyback.

Lucius's snivelling excuses and his failures had bought Draco a one-way ticket to being a half-breed freak for the rest of his natural life and his father couldn't stand it. Draco wouldn't put it past the man to knock his mother up again when this was all over just so he could claim his offspring was still pure.

"Because I'm locked in a small room with a man I'd very much like to savage and the moon is rising," Draco retorted coldly.

All of his illusions about his father had been shattered and destroyed this summer. In the past, his father had been his hero. The man he aspired to be. Rich. Powerful. Cunning. He was everything Draco had been told an upstanding and proper pureblood wizard ought to be. All his life Draco had believed his father's bullshit. He had lapped up every lesson of how he ought to act. How he ought to speak. Who he ought to associate with. He'd listened intently as his father had told him Malfoy's were better than everyone else. As he'd told him all that being a Malfoy meant.

And then his father had shattered every one of those lessons by going against everything a Malfoy was supposed to be; all in his own pathetic fear of being murdered by the Dark Lord. The bastard hadn't even uttered a word to protect Draco or save him from his fate when he'd been tossed at Greyback's feet. When the Dark Lord had demanded Draco be infected to punish Lucius, Draco had caught the wretched glitter or relief in Lucius's eyes that it wouldn't be Lucius himself who would be infected with Lycanthropy.

"If you wish to savage me so very much, Draco, then why haven't you done it?" Lucius sneered, and Draco turned on the man so fast that his own head spun.

A vicious snarled slipped between his bared teeth and Lucius cried out in pained surprise when Draco's fingers sprouted wicked claws, slashing across his chest. Draco glared at his sire, vibrating with rage as he watched the fabric of his father's fine robes shred beneath his claws, blood welling thickly from the long gouges he left upon his father's chest.

"It would seem as though I have done it, Father," Draco retorted coldly, stalking away from the man and back to the window once more.

He ought to have felt contrition over wounding his father. He ought to be apologising on bended knee for what he'd just done. He ought to have been disgusted with himself for the feral, black, two-inch claws of a monster that had exploded from his nail-beds and still tipped his fingers. He ought to be concerned over the sight of the blood spilling form his father's flesh, staining his robes and wetting his skin.

He didn't.

Draco didn't feel any of those things. All he felt was a burning anger simmering deep in his gut, driving him to violence and this uncontrolled rage he'd been trying to learn how to curb. All he felt was a boiling sense of cruelty at the justice of seeing his father maimed as Draco had been maimed.

Because of Lucius, Draco had become a killer. Because of Lucius, Draco had become a monster. It was entirely because of Lucius that Draco was any of the things he'd become. His father had been the one to tie the Malfoy family to the Dark Lord. His father had been the one to fail at the simple tasks he'd been given by the Dark Lord. How hard could it really have been to trick Harry fucking Potter into going to the Department of Mysteries and have him remove the prophecy?

Was he incapable of simple fucking Summoning Charms? Draco knew for a fact that Potter had removed the Prophecy. He'd even willingly put it in Lucius's hands to save his friends from an untimely death, ever the noble fucking hero. And instead of making off with the easily attained object like any normal wizard with a task from the Dark Lord, Lucius had lingered. He'd lost his hold on the prophecy and in the ensuing madness had been unable to even hear the full recitation of those prophetic words.

As a result, he'd been arrested. Draco had been forced, at sixteen, to step into his father's shoes as a Death Eater. He'd been forced to turn the Killing Curse on some muggle dragged from the dungeons of the Manor and snivelling for freedom. At the time, he'd felt nauseas and horrified when he'd done the deed and killed the man. When he'd been branded with the wretched mark upon his forearm before being released to the privacy of his room, Draco had sobbed into his mother's skirts like a snivelling first year.

He'd known, on some level, that he would one day have taken the Dark Mark either way and while he'd felt sick to his stomach with what he'd done, guilty of the crime he'd committed and remorseful over the life he had taken; he'd also known it would have been his fate either way. Because of Lucius, he'd become a killer before he'd even become a man in the eyes of the law. To make matters worse his father's subsequent escape from Azkaban and his interrogation by the Dark Lord had landed Draco here.

He was far more than just a killer now. He was a half-breed. He was a monster. He was a vicious and dangerous magical creature as capable of violence as he was of breathing. He was a fucking werewolf and it was all his father's fault. And the man didn't even have the decency or the fatherly sentiment to save Draco from this fate or even apologise for what he'd done to land Draco here.

"You…" Lucius gasped, horrified by what his son had done.

"You did this to me," Draco snarled from where he'd retreated to the window and was glaring out over the stormy landscape beyond, "Be grateful that you're even still alive, Father. Because of you, I am a monster. I am a killer. Because of you, I transform every full moon from a teenage fucking boy into a salivating and vile beast as likely to slaughter you and feast on your entrails as any rabid mutt."

"You blame me for your place amongst the Death Eater ranks?" Lucius demanded, still refusing to acknowledge that Draco was a werewolf.

" _You_  joined the Dark Lord," Draco snarled, turning to glare hatefully at the man, " _You_  failed at the simple tasks you were given.  _You_  stood there and didn't lift a finger or say a word to save me when the Dark Lord threw me at Greyback's feet! I'm your son. You're only fucking heir. And you let the fucking cunt do this to me!"

"Had I spoken a word of protest," Lucius retorted coldly, his chest bleeding heavily and staining his fine robes as he got to his feet to glare at his only son, "He'd have killed you. One sound and you wouldn't be a werewolf, Draco. You'd be dead. Do you think I wanted that? That I wanted to bury my only son?"

"You'd rather this?" Draco roared, advancing on the man and feeling his teeth sharpening and lengthening in his mouth as his canine fangs grew in. He waved a clawed hand at his face, before holding both appendages away from his body and showing his father the wretched claws growing from his human finger.

"Yes!" Lucius snapped, "I would prefer that you are alive and able to hate me as you so clearly do, than to have had to bury you. You're my only son, Draco. The only decent fucking thing I've done with my life. I couldn't let them kill you!"

"You didn't know I'd survive the fucking bite!" Draco argued, his father's words twisting like a knife in his gut, "You stood there and watched that monster savage me. You watched without a word as I writhed on the floor, twisting and screaming with the agony as the infection tore through me. You let them make me this… this…  _thing_!"

Draco glared at his father, his breath coming in short pants of rage and despair.

"What else could I do?" Lucius demanded, "Would you have preferred to have me try and fail to save you from this fate? Would you have preferred to see me begging on my knees, the last sight you'd see before the Killing curse struck you? Is that what you wanted instead Draco?"

Draco snarled savagely at the man, too furious for words. Unable to bear the sight of the man when he looked so angry and so desperate and yet somehow so fragile and broken too, Draco began to pace again. He couldn't bear that. More than anything else he couldn't stand the sight of his father looking so broken. All his life, Lucius had been his hero. The man he looked up to. The man he wanted to be. He was strong. Fierce. Cunning. He always had a way out, always had a back-up plan in case things went sour.

To see him instead brought so low, left so powerless, and clearly feeling so helpless was more than Draco could stand.

"I'm a freak," he managed after several long minutes of pacing, refusing to look at his father again, the sight of his sire's blood clogging his nose and turning his stomach, "I'm a monster, Father. A killer. A murderer. Had I not escaped the pack on the last full moon, I'd be a fucking cannibal."

"You're alive," Lucius retorted and the scent of magic burned in Draco's sensitive nose as his father began non-verbally healing the slash upon his chest, "You might be furious and you might be infected with Lycanthropy. But you are alive. You are still able to stand there and rage at me. And I will not apologise for that Draco. I am sorry that you were dragged into this mess, as I was dragged into my own father's schemes with the Dark Lord. I am sorry that we have ended up in a situation where we have no other choice now but to play host to the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord; where we must pander to the Dark Lord's will. But I will not apologise that I chose to let you become what you are rather than simply letting you die."

Draco was sure that were it not for the boiling rage of hatred that lived inside him, were it not for the feral beast that inhabited his skin, he might've shed a tear over Lucius's words. That he might've been moved by his father's stubbornness and his insistence that Draco's life meant more to him than anything else. He was sure that were he not a monster, he might've even tried to offer his father comfort or at least an apology for savaging him.

But Draco didn't do any of those things. He was a monster now. A vicious, savage beast incapable of expressing any of his emotions through anything other than violence. Instead he simply stood there at the window that overlooked the grounds, snarling furiously to himself as he watched the moon begin to rise.


	4. Chapter 4

She crept on silent feet as she descended the stairs from her bedroom in Grimmauld Place. Dinner had been eaten and most people had retired for the night either to bathe, to sleep or simply to find a moment to themselves. The days had been spent cleaning Grimmauld Place fervently, waging war upon the dilapidated structure as they tried to make it fit for human habitation once more.

There had been an Order meeting the previous evening and many people had been coming and going since yesterday. Hermione had been arguing with herself seriously about what she ought to do. It was a full moon tonight and while there was part of her that was terrified to risk running into her potential mate again, another part of her was craving it.

She needed to know. She needed to find him again. And while it didn't make any sense to her at all, Hermione found herself sneaking out of the house. She'd given Ginny a story about how she was going to do some more reading in the library. She'd told Ron the same thing, claiming she would shower first and then begin work on a made-up extra credit assignment. When they'd both heard that, Ron had talked Ginny into a game of chess with him.

Hermione had indeed proceeded to shower, but now that everyone else was distracted, she was making a break for it. Sneaking down the hall and over to the front door, Hermione let herself out with nothing more than a whisper of her shoes against the floor. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about the idea that she was somehow fated to a werewolf that she'd happened to encounter by chance in the woods.

The only thing she could think of doing about it, other than researching the condition and the Mate Principle in depth, was confronting the wolf responsible for this mess. And that meant she had to find him again. Since she had no idea who he was, she didn't really know where to start. She could only assume, based on Remus's observations, that her  _mate_  might be feeling the need to find her too. As such, she was going to the place she'd first run into him to begin with.

Turning on the spot when she reached the top step just outside the door to Gimmauld Place, Hermione disapparated with a crack. The nauseating jerk behind her navel coupled her nervousness, and Hermione landed gracelessly on the floor of the forest, her stomach heaving. She hurled until the bile that had been churning in her stomach for what felt like weeks now finally surfaced and left her in a fit of burning coughs.

She groaned as she wiped her hands across her mouth before getting to her feet carefully. The night air was cold amid the gloom of the forest and Hermione shivered, regretting not having donned a thicker coat before leaving the house. She needed to find the werewolf she'd encountered last time. She didn't even rightly known why she assumed she would run into him again here in this same spot. The only people who lived close enough to this part of the Forbidden Forest were those who dwelt in Hogsmeade and Hermione doubted that any of the residents from the small village would actually have become a werewolf so very recently.

She could only hope that her mate, whoever he was, would have the same instinct to find her and so would come to the same spot he'd encountered her. If he truly was her fated mate, she suspected he would be burning with the need to find her again. Hermione walked in silence as she crossed the grove where the Wolfsbane bloomed. The forest was quite, the moon glowing brightly overhead and filtering through the trees to light her way.

She frowned to herself in silence when she noted that though it was quiet here, it wasn't unnaturally so. Night birds called to one another and the sounds of other far-off creatures foraging for their dinner reached her ears. They hadn't fallen silent in the presence of a skulking but unseen predator. Hermione looked up at the moon again. It was definitely high enough that whoever her mate was, he'd have completed the transformation by now.

So where was he? Didn't he crave her the Remus had told her that her mate would do? Didn't it occur to him to come back to the same place he'd first met her as a wolf if he wanted the chance of possibly running into her again? Maybe he'd been distracted, as werewolves tended to be if there was prey that could be hunted once they had transformed by the ravaging effect of the moon. Maybe she needed to call to him in the only language he would understand right then.

Transforming herself into her animagus form, Hermione shook out her thick fur and took a few long minutes to acclimatise herself to the feel of being an animal and standing on four paws instead of two human feet. When she felt in control of herself again, Hermione communicated with her werewolf the only way she knew how. She tipped her own head back and howled long and loud and clear through the night.

Then she stopped.

She held perfectly still as she listened for some sound. For some sign that he was nearby. Utter silence met her ears. All the night creatures fell silent at the sound of a predator in their midst. No night birds called. No woodland creatures scurried about, foraging. They all fell just as silent as Hermione had become herself as she waited with baited breath for the faintest whisper of a hint that he was there.

None came.

Hermione wondered if maybe she just hadn't howled loud enough to echo through the entire forest. The tress grew thick and heavy, the foliage trapping the sound and preventing it reaching beyond. Maybe she had to howl louder. Trying again, Hermione tipped her head back and she howled even louder than before. Long; clear; ringing. She howled so loudly it made her throat ache and the cold night air burned her lungs.

When still no returning call met her ears, Hermione frowned.

Maybe he was running late. Last time she'd encountered him she'd been foraging for a while and had arrived much later in the evening that she'd shown up tonight. Maybe he had run here from some other distant place beyond the forest. Maybe if she wandered far enough, she might have more of a chance of running into him. Setting off into the forest, Hermione padded on four paws through the dense undergrowth.

Any number of scents tempted her sensitive canine nose, threatening to overwhelm her good human sense and have her run off to investigate them all. Being in this form meant she was more attuned to the forest around her. While she had been human, Hermione had had no idea that just a scant twenty meters off to her left, a centaur was silent and watchful in the forest. It occurred to her suddenly that the centaur might have been intent on capturing her before she had transformed.

Narrowing her eyes on the very idea, Hermione padded through the undergrowth towards the equine creature until she stood before him, peering up at the almost-human face.

"You are no real wolf," he accused her, his own eyes narrowed in return.

Hermione shook her head. No, she wasn't a real wolf. At least, not in the sense that she had been born with four paws and a tail. Hers was merely an elaborate and impressive show of magical talent.

"Sometimes you are a teenage girl," the centaur went on, one of his hooves kicking up some of the dirt at his feet, "You seek the werewolf you encountered last time."

Hermione almost transformed back to ask the creature if he had seen her werewolf, but she paused when she watched the way he pranced ever so slightly, almost in preparation. She realised with a jolt that, as was the nature of centaurs, he wanted to get her human again and then he wanted to carry her off into the woods and rape her. Literally.

She didn't blame him, exactly. It was in all the mythology she'd ever learned before Hogwarts and it was certainly discussed in depth within her Care of Magical Creature textbooks. Bestial tendency towards sexual need and the urge to reproduce ran strong within in all centaurs. It was one of the reasons Hermione had thought it a very bold and unnerving move when Dumbledore had insisted of having Firenze teach Divination up at the school. Centaurs were well known throughout literature for the number of times they had attempted to or succeeded as raping human women. Men too, sometimes. Their animalistic drive to mate wasn't so fussy as the heteronormativity humankind tended toward.

Hermione knew too that when she and Harry had tricked Umbridge into entering the forest at the end of last year, the woman had been carried off and brutally raped within an inch of her life by the centaur herd inhabiting this very forest. While Hermione had felt the woman was positively wretched, she didn't think she'd deserved such a harsh conclusion to her teaching career…. Well, not entirely. Part of her was disgustingly gleeful that such a horrible, cruel, unsympathetic and utterly vile woman had gotten her comeuppance.

A sly smile slipped across the centaur's face when rather than transforming like he'd clearly hoped, she growled at him, baring her fangs menacingly to warn him away from such bestial notions.

"I see you are a smart one, then," he smirked at her, "I remember you, you know? You were one of the foals who led that wretched Ministry woman in here not so very long ago to meet an untimely demise. And you came back again, similarly unprotected last month. I'd have had you then, but your lupine friend interrupted me."

Hermione growled at him again. She eyed him carefully, wondering if she would be able to transform quickly enough to escape him should he grab her if she returned to human in order to question him. She supposed she could and even if she couldn't, she had her wand. She could disapparate away from him or she could hex him until he released her.

"Make no mistake, little witch, I will capture you," he warned her, "You would do well not to return to this forest so unprotected in future. It's written in the stars that you will meet a carnal demise within these trees."

Hermione bared her teeth at the centaur again. She didn't doubt that what he was saying about the stars foretelling her doom might be true. She just doubted that her 'carnal demise', as he'd called it, would be at the hands of a centaur.

Transforming back to human, Hermione stood to her full height and glared at the sly centaur.

"Foolish mistake, little witch," he smirked at her, taking several steps in her direction, if hooves kicking up the faintest puffs of dust from the forest floor as he moved.

"You mustn't be very adept at reading at the stars," Hermione told the centaur, holding her ground, her wand clutched in her fist tightly.

The centaur stopped, clearly surprised by her words and by her actions.

"And why might that be?" he wanted to know, raising his eyebrows at her condescendingly.

"In your first breath you stated that my lycanthropic friend interrupted you last month," Hermione shrugged her shoulders delicately, "And then you tell me my carnal demise will occur in these woods. You figure it out."

The centaur eyed her scrutinisingly.

"The stars hold many secrets," he said after many long minutes of contemplating her carefully, "The mistake you make is in believing that you have all the answers when you put so little faith in the stars and arts like Divination at all."

"You know of me then?" Hermione asked, raising one eyebrow, "I hadn't realised my disapproval of Divination as a subject whilst up at the school was of any interest to the centaurs."

"You are of much interest to the centaurs," he countered, taking slow measured steps in her direction as he spoke, "To some of us, in any case."

"To you, in particular," Hermione replied, fixing him a sly glance of her own, "However I'm sure I know of someone who might not take very kindly to your intentions towards me."

"Indeed?" he asked, his eyebrows rising once more.

Still clutching her wand in one hand, Hermione reached up with the other and pulled aside the neck of her shirt to reveal the bite mark scarred into her flesh where her mate had bitten her, claiming her with his bite as the wolf. As soon as he did so whilst also as the man - according to Remus – she would be irrefutably tied to him for the rest of her days.

The centaur stepped even closer, his brow furrowing as he came so close Hermione could pick up the equine scent of his flesh. He had to bend forwards to see the scar through the dark as his height was far superior to her own. He lifted one hand towards the scar that stood out bright red against her pale flesh, his fingers almost brushing the skin before he suddenly recoiled.

"You are fated to the wolf?" he asked, his brow furrowing deeply as he reared back from her.

"I am," Hermione replied evenly, "As I said, perhaps you are not quite so adept at reading the stars as you might like to be."

He nodded his head slowly, looking thoughtful, his eyes lingering a long time on her scar until Hermione covered it with her shirt once more.

"You used the herd for your own ends when you brought that Ministry woman into the forest," he accused.

"I was protecting my friends from her vile methods of persuasion and her illegal activities up at the castle," Hermione retorted unrepentantly, "That your herd happened along when they did, and that she foolishly thought to challenge Bane whilst offering all of you insult was her own mistake. One she paid for dearly. I do not regret her fate."

"No, you do not," he murmured, his eyes searching her expression carefully as though looking for some hint of regret or remorse over Umbridge's fate. One he didn't find. "What is your name, little witch."

"Hermione Granger," she supplied, "And you are?"

"Ronan," he answered, "I was the one who argued the release of you and Harry Potter when the herd carried the wicked witch off."

"I seem to recall your argument that we were just foals and did not deserve to meet her fate," Hermione replied, remembering the name Ronan with sudden clarity.

"You remember me then," he smirked wickedly, "But you are no longer just a foal. You weren't really a foal then either, were you? You are grown. You have reached the age and maturity where you could birth foals of your own."

"I am grown and I am claimed," Hermione replied, "I hardly think the centaurs would welcome a feud with a werewolf."

"That remains to be seen," he replied, straightening once more so that he was no longer peering into her face, "I find it most intriguing that unlike many human females, you are not at all captivated by the beauty of centaurs, nor afraid of me, despite my obvious intentions towards you."

Hermione bit her lip on the large insult it would be to state that she had never been much interested in horses. That would be considered a great offence to a centaur.

"I am… not easily beguiled," Hermione offered diplomatically.

He smirked at her words, seeming to realise she was trying to avoid insulting him.

"Your wolf is not here, you know?" he told her, straightening, "There has been no werewolf in this forest all month."

Hermione sighed, suspecting as much. She nodded her head as supposed she might as well head back to Headquarters before she was missed. There was little point hanging about for her werewolf to turn up if he wasn't already in the forest. He wouldn't be able to apparate whilst transformed with his curse. Meaning that if he wasn't already there, he wasn't going to be there at all.

She felt mildly alarmed that the notion saddened her. She hadn't realised she'd been looking forward to seeing the large white wolf again. In fact, Hermione had managed to convince herself that she'd been rather dreading it. To learn of her own disappointment with unsettling indeed.

She was still nodding and trying to get her thoughts in order so that she could apparate when Ronan interrupted her.

"There were a pack running beyond the forest earlier this evening. Forty or fifty strong. Werewolves, all," Ronan informed her as he continued to regard her and seemed to pick up on her disappointment, "I wonder if you know which among them your mate is."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on him.

"Which way? Whereabouts beyond the forest did you see them?" she asked, hope flaring in her chest that she might not have snuck out of Girmmauld Place for nothing after all.

"You can become a wolf too, Hermione Granger," he told her, clearly not at all intent on helping her any more than he already had. "Figure it out."

Hermione felt the strangest urge to laugh when he threw her words back in her face after what she'd said to him earlier. Clearly he had a sense of human along with his less than honourable intentions. She wondered what to make of the fact that he'd rather baldly implied his intent to cart her off and brutally rape her, and she hadn't been particularly alarmed. She was concerned, of course, that such a character dwelt within the castle so near the school when any student might wander in and be caught by him or his herd-mates.

However, Hermione herself didn't feel overly alarmed by the notion of another creature intending to rape her. Not when she'd been spending a good deal of time mentally preparing for such an ordeal at the hands of a currently-unknown werewolf.

Transforming herself once more, Hermione re-took lupine form and tipped her head back to howl into the night, trying to signal the pack, trying to reach the ears of the wolf that the Fates had determined she belonged with. The sound echoed through the forest, bouncing off the trees and once again silencing the other creatures within the darkness. She waited once more for some hint of sound in return to her call.

"Hermione Granger?" Ronan called when she began trotting away into the darkness, hoping to hear a returning howl.

She stopped only long enough to glance over her shoulder at the centaur.

"Don't return to this forest alone again," he warned her quietly, "You will not be so safe, next time."

With that said he turned and melted away through the trees. Hermione paused as she absorbed his dire warning, taking particular note of his grim tone and his slightly worried expression. She shook herself when goose-pimple raced over her skin, causing her fur to stand on end and making her look twice as large as she actually was.

Before she could focus on it any further, there was suddenly – finally – an answering howl renting the cold night air.

Her mate had heard her.

Hermione yipped with uncharacteristic excitement and nervousness even as she set off in the direction the howl had come from, howling again in return.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

Fenrir Greyback felt the ripple of surprise that rolled through him when another wolf joined the swarm his pack had made upon the plains beyond the forest, slaughtering livestock, hunting for more exciting prey. It wasn't entirely unheard of that such a large pack would draw other werewolves within the nearby vicinity to their pack. Wolves were pack-animals by nature. Pack mentality ran strong within them on wolf-moon nights.

Through the haze of red that blurred his vision and the driving, wild urge he felt to run; to rip; to tear; to kill; to feast; Fenrir narrowed his eyes on the new arrival. They were near enough to the forest that it wasn't entirely impossible the near-human-intelligence offspring of his own might have heard him. They had dwelt in the forest, raised by him when he wasn't with the pack, and they often liked to join in the hunt with him. However, they were already among the pack as they hunted.

The newcomer was a wolf he hadn't turned, and certainly wasn't a full werewolf. They were also female.

Fenrir felt the familiar stirring that always came upon him in the presence of a ripe female, but he pushed it aside. She was much too small to be a werewolf. In fact, she might've passed for a regular wolf, had they not been hunted to extinction within Britain. There was just one problem with her presence there, since he wouldn't have cared either way if real wolves joined them.

She was female, and it was incredibly rare for human females to survive the bite and become lycanthropes in the first place. So if she wasn't werewolf, and she wasn't a regular wolf, she had to be an animagus. Fenrir licked his chops at the very idea. She might look wolf now, but inside she was all human. That in itself was rare. He'd never needed to attempt animagi himself, but he knew it was a particularly difficult branch of magic and that few attempted it successfully. Even fewer took wolf form when they transformed.

It was a trait particular to the female mate of male werewolves. Which mean that little female was someone's mate. Someone within the pack too. Fenrir padded closer to her as she searched through the pack, looking for a wolf in particular. It seemed that whoever her mate was, she knew to recognise him in lupine form. He narrowed his eyes on that idea. He'd only turned one wolf before last month's full moon.

The Malfoy pup.

Even as a wolf the pup's hair gleamed white in the moonlight, marking him out from the rest of the pack who were all mottled shades of grey, black and russet. When the little grey female spotted the Malfoy pup where he was snarling and fighting with some of the others, she wagged her tail slightly and took a step towards him before hesitating.

Through the haze of the change, Fenrir could tell the little female had worked out what the werewolf was to her. She had obviously realised that he was her mate. And they'd met before. Yet she hesitated. Could it be she'd encountered him in wolf form in the forest when the little runt had scampered off on his own last full moon while he was supposed to be participating in a slaughter?

Fenrir padded closer and close, unnoticed by the little she-wolf until he stood right behind her.

She smelled fucking delicious. Wolfsbane, and honey vanilla lingered in the scent of her fur. She also reeked of the Malfoy pup and Fenrir spotted a faint disturbance in the fur in her shoulder. Had the little bastard already marked his bitch? Did the little fucker even know about the Mate Principle?

Fenrir assumed based on the fact that he'd yet to notice his mate in their midst and based on what a smug, pompous bastard the kid usually was, that he had no clue. His wolf had recognised her on instinct and acted to leaving his claiming mark upon his property. Padding around the little female, Fenrir noted that she'd definitely been bitten by the Malfoy pup. His lupine scent had combined with hers, forever altering her body.

Whoever she was, she seemed to understand what she was doing there in their midst while the kid had no idea.

Fenrir stepped even closer, nosing at the fur on her shoulder over the scarred mark the pup had left upon her, needing to confirm his suspicions. She jumped in surprise and spun on him with her fangs bared, her lip curling away from her teeth as she growled and lowered herself into a defensive crouch, her fur raising menacing.

He narrowed his eyes on the little bitch, intent on putting her in her place for thinking to challenge him as alpha but before he had even curled his own lip at her in return her eyes widened at him in horror and her head dropped into a submissive pose. She stopped growling and she lowered herself until she was practically lying at his feet, she tried so hard to make it clear she had been startled and not that she'd wanted to fight him.

So the little bitch even understood lupine forms of communication, did she?

That was interesting. In addition to the inherent smell in her blood from the Malfoy pup's claim on her, the scent of werewolf hung about her. She'd obviously brushed against some of the pack in the run, but there was another smell as well. One he hadn't picked up on in a long while.

Lupin.

She smelled like Remus Lupin. The prodigal son of the pack. The one who defied him and refused to fall in rank. His scent lingered on her faintly as though she'd spent some time in his company recently. That was  _very_ interesting. Lowering his nose towards the bitch where she'd stretched out so low, trying to show her submission, Fenrir sniffed at her muzzle before snorting at her. He didn't recognise her scent this time, but he would know it for the future. He got the feeling the little bitch wanted to work out who her mate was when he was in human form. Meaning she'd need to hang around all night until the dawn when they all transformed back.

Clever little bitch, all she had to do was watch and wait and she'd see who the man was behind the beast. The Malfoy pup would be none the wiser and she'd be able to dash off into the forest, transform once more and return to wherever it was that she'd come from. curling his lip at her ever so faintly to warn her against the urge to ever turn on him as she'd just done, even if she'd done so by accident, Fenrir enjoyed the way she trembled and whined slightly, trying to earn his forgiveness. That was interesting in itself. If she was fated to the Malfoy pup, she would be around his age. Had to be clever to have figured out animagi and to have read up on how she ought to act whilst in her beast form.

Maybe the little bitch could lead him back to Lupin to. That bastard needed to fall into line. He might be buying them all a decent standing among certain types of wizards, but that wasn't Fenrir's goal. He didn't want wizards to accept them and treat them normal. He wanted to kill the fuckers and he wanted to turn them all until only the strong, only those capable of being werewolves, survived.

When he stepped back slightly the bitch tipped her eyes up to meet his. Those had shifted to the yellow of a wolf and she really did look very much like she was a real wolf. A particularly thick-furred one. Narrowing her eyes on her, Fenrir flicked his tail, silently indicating she should re-take her feet. She did so hesitantly, half-rising from the ground but still keep her body low and submissive. He watched as she crawled closer to him and a feral grin slipped across his jaws as he realised she meant to play full wolf with him. When she was in reach, she stretched up and licked the side of his muzzle the way any pack-mate would to show affection for and submission to their alpha. The bitch knew how to play the game. The idea amused him no end.

He was thinking he might just have to play with this one. It was much too rare for a werewolf - even one as uppity, bitter and fucking shitty as the Malfoy pup - to find their mate. She might be playing the submission game with him, but he reckoned that as curious as she was about her mate, she would panic when she found out who Malfoy was. If she was running with Lupin in any capacity she was probably part of the Order of the Phoenix, and Order members didn't associate with Death Eaters like that little bastard. Fenrir allowed her to continue trying to earn his forgiveness with her licks, smirking to himself over how pissed the pup would be to see his mate licking his alpha at all. He would have to drive her off before the change returned. Or distract her until she lost sight of the pup in the agony and screams of the morning when the sun rose after the full moon.

This one, whoever she was, she wasn't going to take it lightly to be mated to the Malfoy pup. In fact, she might even be driven to kill the pup before he could mark her as the man as well as the wolf, laying full claim to her. Until he did that and until he fucked her good, she could still fuck around and conceive with other males. If she knocked the pup off before he completed the bond, she'd be free of having a Death Eater and werewolf for her mate and could go on with her life as though she'd never had a mate in the first place.

That wasn't going to fly. Not when the children conceived of mate bonds made stronger, more vicious werewolves when they were turned. They were born prepped and ready for the lupine traits that came from werewolf spit, come and blood of an infected's spawn. And he needed those pups, even if they would be Malfoy's.

Finally accepting her submission, Fenrir nodded her in the direction of the pure-white wolf he didn't doubt she'd come seeking. She turned on the spot, looking in that direction and she practically lit up when she laid eyes on the wolf. Scuffling with some of the others, growling and snarling, the kid was as pissed off as they came thanks to being a werewolf at all.

Fenrir watched as she padded towards the Malfoy kid. She yipped softly to get his attention and the little shit looked over, fangs still bared, fur still bristling. And hell if all the fight didn't go right out of him at the sight of the little female. His eyes widened and he yipped in return starting towards her. At the sign of welcome, the little she-wolf bounded towards him, moving to meet him halfway. She had to go three-quarters when Malfoy stopped just as suddenly, his eyes lifting to meet Fenrir's and a worried expression crossing his lupine features.

Looking on from behind the bitch, Fenrir let the pup know with a single look that he knew just what the she-wolf was to him and that he was going to use it as leverage to keep the pup in line if he tried any sort of shit, rebelling against his leadership or fighting against his plans to infect the entire magical race with lycanthropy. The pup's eyes went wide and his concern grew to such a height that Fenrir knew he'd receive the message loud and clear. He could smell the concoction of anxiety, anger and fear rolling off the wolf in waves. Before he could do anything to express any of those emotions, the little female ran right up to him and licked the side of his muzzle, burrowing her head beneath Malfoy's chin and pressing herself against his chest.

Malfoy held his gaze challengingly even as he dropped at affectionate lick to the top of the little animagus's head and were he human, Fenrir Greyback would have laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

Hermione spent the rest of her summer learning everything she possibly could about werewolves and about lycanthropy as a condition. She drilled Remus constantly with questions until she was sure she'd seen the man cringe the last time he'd laid eyes on her at Grimmauld Place. She simply couldn't help it. She had to know everything. Knowledge was power and Hermione Granger had always preferred to ensure she held the most power in every situation she encountered.

In addition to learning all she could about werewolves, Hermione had spent much of the summer training with Remus and Sirius in regards to self-defence and learning how to fight off an attacker in close quarters. When Harry had joined them at Headquarters, he, Ron and Ginny had been included in the lessons as well. Sirius insisted that while Hermione herself would need to know the self-defence basics the most, they could all benefit from knowing how to fight off an attack should they be caught without a wand or should they be in a situation where the use of a wand would have little effect on their attacker.

Harry had been baffled in the beginning, of course. He'd always been of the belief that as long as he had his wand he should be able to fight off any attacker. He had also proved that he knew a little something about muggle-style fighting too when he'd managed to land a nasty punch on his godfather's jaw when they had squared off. Apparently his cousin Dudley Dursley was to blame for his knowledge in that area and Hermione knew that after that incident Sirius had sat Harry down and had a very long chat with him about the life he'd led with the Dursley's and why he'd possibly needed to know how to throw a punch with his own family members.

The man had been furious after their conversation as well. Hermione had been forced to enlist the help of Harry, Ron and Remus just to keep him from charging over the Number Four, Privet Drive and teaching the Dursley family a nasty lesson indeed.

"Hermione, are you alright?" Ron asked her as they reached King's Cross station and he noticed the way she was twirling her wand in her hands and the way she kept looking around furtively. Remus had insisted upon accompanying her personally to the station, clearly as concerned about what might happen to her in the close quarters of the train station as Hermione was herself.

He stood directly to her left, his eyes were scanning the station far faster than hers, his nostrils flaring as he scented the air carefully, searching for the whiff of another werewolf in the vicinity.

"I'm fine, Ron," Hermione assured her friend, though she felt the farthest thing from fine than she'd done in a very long time.

"Are you sure? You're looking a bit peaky," Ron told her. Hermione flinched back from him when he reached up and brushed his fingers lightly over her pale right cheek as though he sought to comfort her or at least to bring some colour back to her skin.

"I… Please don't do that again, Ron," Hermione said. She noticed the way Ron's eyes widened a little in concern and perhaps hurt that she had recoiled from his touch like he were poisonous.

Hermione felt bad over it, but there was little else she could do. She was on edge, tense and concerned over the idea that some unknown male might come rushing at her, intent on brutalizing her. She couldn't stand the idea in the slightest and if she was being honest, she was afraid. Not because she feared the notion of being the mate of a werewolf. No, she'd had much of the summer to grow accustomed to the idea and the unsettling term for the mess she'd landed herself in.

She didn't like it any more than she had the very first night she'd learned about all this, but she was coming to terms with her situation. She had accepted the idea that she was apparently fated to be the mate of some unknown werewolf. She just loathed not knowing who that werewolf might be and it had been gnawing at her psyche all summer long. She needed to know who it was, but at the same time, she was utterly terrified to find out. What if it was someone wretched that she couldn't stand?

More importantly, what if it was someone she couldn't stand and they attacked her?

"I… um…" Ron's ears turned red with embarrassment and Hermione could tell from the way he looked sheepish and then crestfallen that sometime during the summer he must've begun to see her as a girl capable of being dated. Remus had tried to tell her last week that he thought Ron had grown very fond of her, but she'd brushed the idea off. She'd wanted, more than almost anything, to have Ron fancy her.

He'd just been a bit too late. She didn't dare encourage his attraction to her now. Not when she knew it might result in his hurt feelings and heartache when he learned she was fated to be with someone else, someone as yet unknown to any of them.

Ron fell back from where he'd been keeping pace beside her, dropping back to walk with Harry and Ginny instead, clearly unsure how to react to her slight rebuff.

"That was for the best," Remus muttered to her softly when Hermione felt herself sigh heavily. "I know you fancy him, Hermione. And that he's begun fancying you too… But it's for the best to discourage him now. You've got a mate somewhere in the world and while you don't, under any circumstances, have to submit to being with whoever he is, it's important to recognise that being with anyone else might result in seeing that person mauled by your mate."

"What?" Hermione asked, turning to him and blinking thickly as she tried to control the turbulent emotions stirring within her. "You think that in addition to possibly brutalising me, whoever my mate happens to be, he might also savage anyone I'm with who isn't him?"

"Werewolves are territorial, Hermione," Remus told her sympathetically before he shot a glance over at Tonks. "Even if we haven't claimed our mates, as I haven't, we're still territorial over the idea of anyone else getting too close either."

"Why don't you just tell Tonks how you feel, Remus?" Hermione asked, watching him as he watched Tonks laughing with Ginny even as she scanned the area for any dangers to their little group.

"Because I don't want to ruin her life," Remus replied stubbornly.

"You just told me that even though you haven't claimed her, you won't let anyone else near her either," Hermione pointed out, frowning at him. "I know you think you're too old for her, and that you're a wretched monster but we both know neither of those things are true. You're one of the best people I know. And Tonks deserves to be happy. She deserves to be loved and she deserves to have someone adore her. Being your mate means she can't be happy with anyone else and that if she tries to be, you'll likely savage someone."

Remus stopped suddenly and stared down at Hermione as though he'd never thought of it like that.

"But I can't offer her anything, Hermione," he protested quietly, his eyes darting over her face carefully. "I can't give her anything at all but a man who is surly and grouchy most of the time, who turns furry once a month and who has no prospects in life, at all."

"We both know that isn't true Remus," Hermione argued with him, "You're funny and warm and wonderful. Does it matter so much to you that you transform once a month? She obviously doesn't care. She knows what you are and she loves you anyway. And don't you dare stand there and tell me she's confused and that it's the effects of the Mate Principle at work. I happen to have a mate who's a werewolf, too. I don't suddenly feel some irrational and unfounded bond of love to whoever he is. _She_  fell in love with  _you_  all on her own because she likes who you are as a person. All of you. Moony and all."

"But she's…" Remus began, still looking torn.

"She's young and vivacious and funny. She's fun loving and brave. She deserves to be happy and she can't be happy without you. Don't you see that? She loves you. You love her. And Moony isn't going to let anyone else try to steal her away, even if you haven't officially claimed her. So she's stuck in limbo. She can't have the man she wants because he's refusing to admit his own feelings. She can't fall for anyone else because she loves you despite your cruelty of denying her, and even if she could somehow get over you, you'd lose it at her and whoever else she dated because she belongs to you. She's your soulmate, Remus. By some higher power she was chosen, of all people in the world, to be your soulmate. And the longer you ignore the bond between the two of you, the unhappier you both will be."

Remus eyed her looking mildly alarmed by her answer.

"What about you then?" he asked after several long minutes of silence. "Are you just going to accept that whoever your mate is, you're  _meant_  to be with him? Fated and unlikely to be happy without him?"

"I don't have much of a choice, Remus," Hermione reminded him. "Like you said, if I try to date anyone else and he's around to witness it, he'll maul the poor sod. And as you pointed out, it's unlikely I'll ever be able to reproduce with anyone but my mate. For all that the idea of not knowing who he is upsets me, I've had a long summer to think about the things I imagined want out of life and I know that I want children one day. At least one day when the war is over and the wizarding world is free of You-Know-Who and I've got myself the career I want. And since I can't biologically have my own offspring without my mate, I suppose I'll have to get used to him, won't I?"

"And you didn't consider that maybe that's why Tonks is falling for me?" he argued.

"Tonks doesn't know about the Soulmate Principle," Hermione said. "Like you said, very few people do. She wouldn't have learned at Hogwarts because you stole all the library books from the library."

"You never did tell us why you did that, Moony," Sirius suddenly appeared beside them.

"Sirius, what are you doing?" Remus hissed, narrowing his eyes on his friend. "Are you trying to draw even more attention to us than necessary?"

"Shut up. No one is looking this way and you two are holding up the process of getting the kids safely on the train. Now tell me why you removed the books from the library when we were at school."

"I told you, I didn't want you and James ribbing me anymore than you already did about me being a werewolf in the first place," Remus replied gruffly, grabbing Sirius by the elbow and dragging him towards a more private looking spot behind one of the station pillars.

"We'd have forgotten about it again when you didn't suddenly go claiming some bird, Moony," Sirius rolled his eyes as though the idea was completely ridiculous.

"Maybe I didn't think that you would if you suspected who I'd suspected it was back then," Remus retorted before he suddenly clapped his hand over his mouth as though he'd said something he didn't mean to say.

"Who?" Sirius asked, his eyes lighting up with glee at the idea that Remus had thought someone was his mate while they'd been at school.

"I'll give you three guesses," Remus sighed before looking particularly pointedly at Sirius.

Hermione felt a little smirk begin to form on her face at the very idea. Remus had feared when they were at school that his condition was so wretched he would defy the rules of the Soulmate Principle regarding the heterosexual attraction.

"Lily?" Sirius guessed, oblivious to the look on Remus's face. "James would have killed you if it was Lily."

"Not Lily," Remus shook his head.

"Who else did I see you hanging around back then?" Sirius asked, clearly wracking his brain and trying to think of the answer. "You spent a fair bit of time with that bird from Ravenclaw; the one with the dark curly hair. What was her name? Faye something?"

"Is he always this oblivious?" Hermione asked of Remus as she smiled at the werewolf.

"Yes," Remus admitted.

"What?" Sirius asked, glancing between them.

Hermione proceeded to fix him the same pointed look Remus was giving him. Sirius glanced over his shoulder before looking back at the two of them, a slow grin slipping across his face.

"Me?" he guessed. "You hid the books and told us the Mate Principle was bollocks because you were worried that your mate was  _me_?"

Sirius began to laugh out loud.

"You cast your patronus before I'd seen you transform when you managed animagi and I mistakenly thought your patronus was a wolf. You tended to hang off me at times too, even when I told you not to," Remus protested by way of explanation.

Sirius was too busy laughing his arse off to be able to comment.

"You thought that you and me…" he began before laughter overtook him again.

"I thought I was going to be the first gay werewolf to fall victim to the Mate Principle," Remus grumbled.

"You fancied me, then?" Sirius managed to ask between bouts of laughter, clutching his sides as he doubled over with amusement.

"No!"

"Didn't you say that the way a werewolf knows that he's found his mate is by being attracted to and wanting to claim that person?" Sirius asked. "What? You wanted to jump my bones, did you?"

"This is exactly why I never told you about the Mate Principle and denied its existence," Remus snapped, looking grumpy now. "I knew you and James would take the mickey for the rest of bloody time and I was already confused enough."

"Wait, so you fancied me then?"

"You were the one always telling me you loved me," Remus retorted.

"I still do, you know," Sirius grinned at him. "Don't much want to snog you, though. I mean, maybe if you were stuck under some mistletoe or something and there were no lovely ladies around to save you."

"Nevertheless I was obviously wrong in thinking it was the case since we now know its Nympha…." Remus stopped when Tonks suddenly appeared beside him. "Oh. Hello, Tonks."

"Sirius what the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Tonks growled. "Do you want to draw everyone's attention on the entire platform? Change back right this minute, you great fool. Remus! What are you thinking, letting him walk around like that? Do you want us to all be arrested? The man's practically naked!"

"I was… we were just…" Remus stammered.

"Never mind," Tonks scolded. "Hermione, you need to get on the train or you're going to miss it, love. Come on. Quick now."

"Bollocks! Alright Singer, have a good term. Keep an eye on that godson of mine, would you?" Sirius said, suddenly drawing her into a tight embrace before dashing over – still human and beginning to draw looks from others – to grab hold of Harry by the shoulders. He spun the young wizard around and wrestled him into a bear hug that made Harry laugh as he hugged his godfather goodbye. Hermione could hear Harry scolding Sirius about needing to change back to his animagus form unless he wanted to be arrested for indecent exposure before he was hustled onto the train.

"I didn't catch the scent of anyone who's a werewolf while we've been on the platform, Hermione," Remus told her seriously. "But keep an eye out at school just the same. Try to avoid going anywhere alone, if you can. You'll be safer that way. You've got this added mess to deal with but things aren't going to be easy for you this year. Being muggle-born has never been more dangerous for you than it is this year, so make sure you always have Harry or Ron with you, if you can. And don't forget everything we taught you about hand-to-hand combat. It could save your life."

Hermione nodded her head as he and Tonks hurried her towards the train. Just before stepping inside and closing the door, Hermione latched onto Remus and hugged him tight.

"Don't you forget what I said either, Moony," Hermione told the werewolf before nodding indicatively at Tonks.

He nodded and looked slightly resigned as he let her go. Tonks threw herself at Hermione then, latching onto her neck and hugging her tight. She'd grown very close with the young Auror over the time they'd both been living at Hogwarts and Hermione was going to miss the young woman while she was away.

"Make sure you write to me, alright?" Tonks said. "Promise you will."

"I promise. I'll send the letters to Headquarters," Hermione told her. "Stay out of trouble if you can."

"I'll try," Tonks laughed as she released her.

"Keep me appraised of how things… develop… from here on out, won't you?" Hermione grinned at her before wiggling her eyebrows and shooting a glance at Remus where he was hugging Harry and the others goodbye.

"What do you know?" Tonks asked, looking intrigued and excited now.

"Just a bit. You just keep me informed of how things progress," Hermione told her. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, Hermione," Tonks smiled at her, hugging her again before letting her go.

The others hurried over quickly, all of them grabbing fast hugs and wishing her well for the year. Mrs Weasley gave her an extra squeeze and made her promise to write to them as often as they could. Mr Weasley passed on expression of the need to be careful. Even Moody made sure to reiterate his call for Constant Vigilance with a gruff clap on the shoulder. The whistle blew to announce the call for everyone to be on board who was travelling to Hogwarts and everyone was waving from the platform.

Hermione hung out the windows along with Ginny, Ron and Harry as they all waved goodbye to the Order for the coming term. She laughed out loud when someone realised Sirius was mostly naked and began to panic, watching as the wizard suddenly gave a shout, grabbed Remus's arm and disapparated off the platform with one final wave to them and a wicked smile.

"He's going to have to lay low for a while now," Ron chuckled, laughing at Sirius's departure.

"He would have to anyway. Dumbledore will be furious when he finds out Sirius transformed on the platform like that. They'll be writing him up as a pervert or something ridiculous if the papers get wind of it," Hermione replied. "But it will probably do him good. He's been a bit down the past few days with the idea of not having us all around again until the holidays."

"So much of the Ministry is falling under Voldemort's control that I don't think it will matter so much anyway that he was out," Harry threw in. "Besides, Kingsley is heading up the Auror department. They'll play it off as being someone who looked like Sirius. Grabbing Moony was a risky move though. They'll probably have to question him to make it look legitimate for the investigation."

"We should find a compartment," Ginny piped up, "See if we can locate Neville and Luna, maybe some more of the DA. And you two will need to get to the Prefect meeting."

She nodded her head and Hermione a Ron.

"Ah, bugger," Ron grumbled. "I forgot about the bloody prefect meeting. Come on then, let's get a carriage."

Hermione followed after her friends, dragging her trunk and Crookshanks' cage the length of the train until they came upon Luna, Neville, Dean and Seamus all sitting in one of the carriage's in the middle of the train.

"Alright, you lot?" Seamus piped up, grinning widely at the sight of the four of them and throwing the compartment door wide. Dean and Neville jumped up to help get everyone's trunks into the overhead storage compartment.

"Hermione! Good holiday?" Neville asked, helping her with her trunk before tugging her into a hug. The mess they'd been in at the Ministry had cemented a firm friendship between Hermione, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Luna and Neville. Where, in the past, he might've blushed and stammered out a greeting, now he was only too happy to embrace her and talk to her.

"It was certainly an interesting one, Neville," Hermione told him, returning the affectionate greeting and hugging him back. "How about yours?"

"Bloody brilliant, it was," Neville grinned. "Gran's thrilled with me after that mess at the Ministry, see? She got me this, check it out."

He held up a Snargaluff tree sapling, prodding it with his index finger and watching the spiky braches begin to flail and try to attack him.

"That's wonderful Neville," Hermione managed before she was set upon by Seamus.

"Hermione, how are ye?" he asked, clapping her on the back when he tugged her into an embrace as well.

"Good, yeah, thanks Seamus. And you?" Hermione asked, chuckling as the exuberant Irishman clapped her overzealously on the back twice more before releasing her.

She received much the same treatment from Dean before finally she could say hello to Luna.

"Hi Luna, how are you? How was your summer?" Hermione asked, urging the little blonde witch to her feet and hugging her tightly.

"Oh, it was wonderful," Luna told her, smiling widely. "Daddy and I spent most of it hunting for the Crumpled Horned Snorkack. We were so close too, but we had to come back so I could return to school."

She looked crestfallen for a moment before her smile returned as she was drawn into an embrace with Ginny, then Harry and even Ron briefly hugged her in greeting.

"Another year already," Dean was saying. "At least we don't have exams this year. That's a relief. Oh, and Harry you got Quidditch captain? Knew you would. Good on you."

Hermione took a moment to absorb the warm feeling of being among her friends once more, smiling widely to herself before the niggling reminder of the other thing that had happened to her over the summer surfaced within her mind again. She'd been marked by a werewolf. She was to be the mate of some unknown lycanthrope. If she ever wanted to have kids she would even have to bond with that werewolf and let him have his way with her.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Luna asked her. "Your aura just dimmed a bit."

Hermione tried to muster another smile. She'd been keeping her secret from her friends all summer long and the idea of continuing to do so was still preferable to the alternative. She would tell them eventually, of course. Just not yet.

"I'm fine Luna," Hermione promised. "I've just remembered we need to get to the prefect meeting or we'll be late. Come on Ron."

She batted at Ron's arm to get his attention, snagging his sleeve and giving it a tug to pull him to his feet.

"Right. The meeting. Bloody waste of time if you ask me," Ron grumbled. "We'll see you lot in a bit, alright? Don't tell all the good stories without us."

Hermione chuckled when they promised they would tell them again if they had to.

"Come on Hermione, the sooner we get this out of the way, the sooner we can come back," Ron told her, nudging her out the door.

Hermione could tell from his expression as they left the compartment that he was still a bit put out over the way she'd recoiled back from him.

"Ron?" she asked quietly as they paced side by side down the length of the train towards the front carriage where the meeting was to be held.

"Yeah?" he asked, glancing sideways at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm sorry for flinching earlier," she apologised. "I didn't mean to offend you. I was just surprised at being touched."

Ron looked sheepish but nodded his head. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly for a moment as he held her gaze before someone opened the compartment in front of them and stepped into the hallway. Hermione had the breath knocked from her lungs as she collided with something decidedly feminine. A something that also smelled intoxicatingly sweet like she'd used entirely too much perfume that morning.

"What on… Oh! Hello, Hermione. Ron!" Lavender Brown simpered at them in greeting. "Oh it's so good to see you both! How were your holidays?"

"Hi Lavender," Hermione said, trying not to roll her eyes.

She'd noticed when she was at Fred and George's shop over the summer and they'd seen Lavender that the girl had looked a little star-struck when she'd attempted to greet Ron. As she watched the way Lavender's gaze remained fixed on Ron – practically raking over him and drinking in every detail about him – Hermione began to suspect that Lavender fancied Ron.

A shrewd idea occurred to her as she watched Ron greet the other girl as well before engaging in the small talk Lavender initiated about the holidays. Hermione would admit she still rather fancied Ron, but in light of recent events, she knew there was no way they could ever be together without her putting Ron in danger and without ultimately setting herself and Ron up for heartache. The fact was that she was fated to be with someone who wasn't Ron and there was little to be done for it.

Except distract Ron long enough from fancying her, until he stopped doing so. And a golden opportunity had just presented itself in the form of an overly perfumed, nauseatingly pink, simpering female. Lavender already seemed to fancy Ron. Yes, this could work. Hermione had never been much for playing match-maker, but in this particular instance she might have to make an exception. She believed that Ron deserved better than a vicious gossip like Lavender Brown, but at the same time the girl would be a quick-fix to the fizzing tension between Hermione and Ron.

Besides, she doubted anything between Ron and Lavender would be very serious. It might be very physical and Hermione was already feeling squeamish as she imagined the number of meals she might be turned off of should she have to endure the pair snogging, but it would run its course and by then Ron would no longer have any interest whatsoever in Hermione.

Honestly, she suspected he'd only begun to notice her as it was because she was the only female their age who wasn't his sister that he'd been able to interact with all summer. Now that they were back at school she imagined he would likely go back to lusting after whichever witch looked the prettiest or had the shortest skirt.

"I don't mean to interrupt this thrilling conversation," Hermione spoke up when Lavender began to gush to Ron about her summer, noting that Ron looked slightly awkward when the girl told him about the boy she'd had a summer fling with. "But Ron and I are actually on our way to the Prefect meeting for the start of term, Lavender. We need to be on our way or we're going to be late."

"Oh," Lavender stopped, looking crestfallen. "Of course. How silly of me. I was wondering why you didn't have Harry in tow. I'll um… see you later then?"

Ron nodded his head and made a quick exit, striding past the pretty blonde girl. Hermione, on the other hand, watched the way Lavender turned to her, raking a judgemental and annoyed looking gaze over her. She knew the girl was instantly jealous and that she thought Hermione had interrupted because she didn't want Lavender flirting with Ron. Part of her – the spiteful, mean-girl part she did her best to keep caged – wanted to sneer in the girl's face and tell her she'd never be good enough for someone like Ron. Another part – the nice girl part that was all fairness and rainbows – wanted to assure her that she could never have anything romantic with Ron and that Lavender didn't need to be jealous.

Instead, she offered a rather coy smile, "I'm sure you'll be able to catch up with him some more at the feast. Make sure to think of all your best stories, with every detail. Ron loves the little details, you know?"

With that said and a rather confused looking Lavender left with her mouth slightly open, Hermione pressed past her. She could tell the girl didn't know if Hermione was being sarcastic and spiteful, or if she was being genuine and trying to offer advice on how to woo Ronald. Hermione wasn't sure either, if she was being completely honest.

Not bothering to say anything else, Hermione hurried off down the train behind Ron.

"Could talk our bloody ears off, that one," Ron grumbled when they were out of earshot.

"She's not that bad," Hermione scolded half-heartedly even though she agreed with him.

"Ah, Mr Weasley. Miss Granger. So nice of you to join us," Professor McGonagall greeted them when they let themselves into the compartment.

"Good to see you, Professor," Hermione smiled brightly at the woman, pretending she hadn't seen the Transfiguration teacher just two days ago at Headquarters when she'd stopped by the meeting pertaining to getting the four of them to King's Cross to catch the train.

"And you, Miss Granger," McGonagall nodded. "We're just waiting on the sixth year Slytherin prefects."

Hermione slipped into one of the vacant seats between Ron and Padma Patil.

"Hi Hermione, how was your summer?" the Ravenclaw girl asked her.

"Oh, it was fine Padma. What about yours?" Hermione asked the girl, nodding to Ernie, Justin and Hannah in greeting as well.

"It was wonderful! My parents sent Parvati and I to stay with some of our relatives in India this summer," Padma told her. "It was just delightful. You wouldn't believe the types of historical magical places there are to see over there. Just brilliant!"

Hermione nodded along, smiling widely as she listened to the girl when she launched into a detailed explanation of the time she'd spent abroad over the summer.

"But what about you Hermione? Did you do anything exciting this summer?" Padma wanted to know after a brief debate with Ernie over the validity of international travel laws within the magical world.

"Oh yes, my summer was…." Hermione began but before she could finish the words died on her tongue as the compartment doors slid open to admit the final two prefects they'd been waiting for.

Pansy Parkinson flounced in with a flick of her bobbed black hair. She'd clearly had it cut and styled again recently, Hermione noticed, for the bangs over her forehead were just the slightest bit too short to have been anything other than new. The way she blew at them as though they annoyed her made Hermione think she'd grown her hair out over the summer and only had it cut again for school. She wasn't surprised. She remembered seeing a picture of Pansy in the gossip column of the Daily Prophet and recalled that her hair had been longer in it.

She was also snapping gum – a habit Hermione despised on anyone but most certainly could not stand when it came to the likes of Pansy Parkinson. As she watched, the girl sashayed into the compartment like she owned it - making no apology for being late to the meeting - before she dropped into a vacant space by the window. She blew a large purple bubble with her gum as she waited insolently for the meeting to begin.

Hermione's attention snapped back towards the door when she heard it slide closed with a slam and her eyes fixed upon the sickeningly handsome yet slightly unwell looking Draco Malfoy.

Who just so happened to be glaring at her hatefully.


	6. Chapter 6

Draco Malfoy came to an abrupt halt just inside the door as he reluctantly entered the prefect meeting. He'd been intending to skip it but Pansy had refused to let him, resorting to hauling him by the arm most of the way up the train and into the compartment. She'd insisted she couldn't possibly go to the meeting alone. Especially when she'd have to try and explain his absence.

Draco had snarled under his breath most of the way but he'd allowed the witch the allusion of tugging him up the corridor. Not that he wouldn't have been able to very easily resist her and refuse to be budged if he'd chosen. The scent hit his nose like he'd just been walloped by the Whomping Willow. Like Wolfsbane, werewolf and something intoxicating that reminded him of honeyed vanilla.

He stumbled slightly at the impact of the scent as it wafted his way and Draco had to catch himself in the doorway to keep from falling right on his face. The door slammed unnecessarily loud, echoing painfully in his sensitive ears and drawing the attention of the entire compartment. Snarling a second time in frustration, he felt the monster inside his soul sit up abruptly and begin trying to take control from him.

Since the day in the holidays when he'd savaged his father in a rage, Draco had been working harder to get a leash on the raging beast that lived within him. That day he'd spent hours upon hours unable to reverse the shift that had occurred in his fingernails and his teeth, transforming into the hideous half-creature Greyback was so notorious for. The idea had upset him so much that he'd been doing everything in his power to keep from losing control like that again.

Not that it was easy.

Struggling to hold himself in place, Draco gripped the edge of the doorframe tighter, digging his nails in the wood and hearing them groan beneath his tight grip. The scent of another werewolf lingered within the compartment, but when he took a deep breath in through his nose he realised it didn't come from another who shared his condition. No, that was too easy. Instead it came from two of the occupants within the compartment.

Weaselbee and Granger were both glaring at him for the abrupt entrance and Draco glared back at them, every black thought he'd had over the holidays, every hardship he'd endured suddenly boiling down to rest entirely on the two of them. Them and Potter. If it weren't for the meddlesome little shits, his father would never have been arrested; Draco would never have been branded a Death Eater, and he'd never have been infected with lycanthropy.

It was all  _their_  fault that his life had gone to hell in a fucking handbasket and they had the nerve to glare at him for disturbing the bloody meeting? Fucking bastards!

Snarling again, louder this time, Draco glared at them and gripped the door even tighter. He could feel his fingernails lengthening and sharpening into claws, digging even deeper into the woodwork of the compartment doorframe.

"Mr Malfoy, please take a seat," McGonagall commanded sternly and Draco felt his top lip curl back from his teeth.

"I'm good here," he retorted coldly, knowing he would lose control if he removed his claws from the woodwork right at that moment. The urge to rip Weaselbee's throat out was so strong that he almost took a step toward the sod.

Granger was glaring at him as well and Draco realised that the scent he'd noticed, other than werewolf, was coming from her. Wolfsbane and honeyed vanilla emitted from her strongly and Draco curled his lip further when he realised that whatever was causing him to notice her scent at all, it was making his wolf hungry for her. The beast riled beneath the surface and Draco feared the bastard thing might distort his skin if he didn't get a grip on himself and force the monster back into his chains.

She was making him  _hungry_. And not in the sense that he ought to be given he'd skipped breakfast that morning

"Mr Malfoy," McGonagall began, clearly intending to argue.

"Just start the bloody meeting, or I'm leaving," Draco snarled at the woman, dragging his eyes away from the filthy little mudblood who, for some reason, suddenly seemed entirely too appealing for anyone's good.

McGonagall flinched back from the beast he didn't doubt had come into his eyes, narrowing her eyes on him.

"Ten points from Slytherin for your language, Mr Malfoy," she snapped in annoyance.

Draco rolled his eyes at the very idea. As though a few house points mattered to him? He was a fucking  _werewolf_! A half-breed monster! He was a bloody  _Death Eater_. He'd fucking killed a man, and the woman thought a few measly house points being deducted might make him behave? Clearly the witch was barmy.

She didn't push the issue again. Instead she began to lecture them about the school rules and their duties as prefects. Draco tuned out for most of it. He didn't need reminding about the stupid rules of the school. He'd been tasked with killing the Headmaster. He hardly thought that he was going to be following the rule about not being out of bed after hours when he was going to be breaking wizarding law.

His gaze strayed back to Granger where she sat, having turned her attention away from him to focus avidly on McGonagall as she spoke. Draco rolled his eyes to himself at the eager way she sat up, paying full attention to the lecture they were being given, as though she might somehow have forgotten some of the school rules. Then again she'd run off to London, leaving school grounds and commandeering school property by riding Thestrals to the Ministry. Maybe she needed to refresh herself on what was and wasn't allowed.

Draco narrowed his eyes on the little swot. He wanted to know why she suddenly smelled good to him. He couldn't deny that the sight of her and the scent of her was making him horny. In fact he was thinking he might need to sit down and cross his legs or people were going to notice his reaction. Blast it all, he was  _furious_  with the bitch. Because of her, in part, he was a sodding werewolf.

More to the point, she was a fucking mudblood. She had no right to seem attractive or to smell good. She had no right to make him hard for her. Draco curled his lip to himself once more, prying his claws loose from the doorframe and stuffing his hands into his pockets before throwing himself down to sit beside Pansy. She didn't look overly thrilled about it, given that he was still snarling under his breath. He hadn't told the girl that he'd been infected. He was keeping that under very tight wraps, but he could tell that she could sense  _something_  different about him now.

Like sitting in an empty room with a murderous lunatic, there was a chill that raced down the spines of those he interacted with. Some unsettling sense that made the hairs on the backs of their necks prickle when they got too close to him, as though they could sense that he was a monster. Draco knew the feeling all too well, it was one he used to get whenever he'd been forced into the same room as Greyback, before being bitten. He even recalled the same feeling, to a slightly lesser extent, during his Third Year Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons with Lupin.

The thought of Lupin snapped into sharp focus the scent of werewolf lingering on Weaselbee and Granger, he realised. They'd been escorted here by the Order and obviously he was a part of it. Greyback was always muttering about that fucker and his refusal to fall in line into the Pack the way he was expected to. Narrowing his eyes on Granger once more, Draco tried to determine why she smelled so intriguing. He completely tuned out everything McGonagall was saying, rather enjoying the way Granger slowly grew tense, as though she too could sense his gaze levelled in her direction and felt uncomfortable beneath it.

When they were dismissed, she got to her feet, ignoring the hand up that Weasley offered her. Draco watched Pansy do the same, smirking when the girl shoved her way in front of Weaselbee with all the pompousness of an heiress. Weasley grunted, having to step back to avoid Pansy's viciousness. He trod of Granger's foot and she gave a soft squall of complaint over the abuse before she lost her balance when Weasley wheeled back even further.

Draco didn't even know how he felt about it all when the little mudblood landed squarely in his lap. Mostly, he felt alarmed, because there was no way she  _wasn't_  going to feel the turgid length of his erection inside his trousers, rubbing against her arse. The fact that she latched onto him to keep from sliding out of his lap and onto the floor was also rather alarming because it wafted her scent to him even more and he suspected that several people might've noticed the growling sort of purr he emitted.

Granger noticed, that was certain. Her eyes went wide when his hands lifted to grip her hips beneath unforgiving fingers, wanting to hurl her from his lap just as surely as his wolf wanted to throw her down and fuck her until she screamed. Her scent seemed familiar somehow, reminding him of the forest and the glade where the Wolfsbane bloomed.

Understanding suddenly slammed into him when Granger squirmed slightly and her collar fell open in just the right way for him to catch sight of a vicious bite-mark upon her shoulder.

The she-wolf from the forest.

It was…. Granger.


	7. Chapter 7

Hermione Granger gasped in surprise to suddenly find herself perched on Draco Malfoy's lap. She held her breath, trying to control her breathing and trying not to blush crimson. She was sitting on Draco Malfoy's lap. Sweet Thanatos, he was going to  _kill_  her.

"Sorry," Hermione said automatically, panicking as she tried to squirm out of his hold. His grip was unforgiving upon her hips as he latched onto her in surprise to find her suddenly on his lap and wirggling. She expected that any second now he was going to shove her to the floor and Hermione didn't fancy the bruise she'd likely end up with or the scathing words he would spit when he stepped over her. He'd probably kick her for good measure, the wretch.

"What do you think you're doing, Granger?" he drawled in a wicked voice when her squall of shock was heard by Pansy, Ron and several others as they tried to leave the compartment. "I mean, I'm know I'm swoon-worthy, but this is pathetically desperate, even for a mudblood like you."

Hermione's back stiffened and she shoved at him, still wriggling, trying to find her feet. He hadn't shoved her yet, but his grip was alarmingly tight and made her ache a little even through her robes.

"Believe me, Malfoy, you're not swoon-worthy. I'd sooner Avada myself than ever be attracted to the likes of you," Hermione retorted, still shoving at his shoulders and trying to make him let her go since he didn't seem so keen on it when he could continue to torment her.

"Tell that to your arse, witch," he muttered and Hermione froze, turning slowly to level him her iciest glare. Oh, he wanted to talk about her arse, did he? The arse that was being prodded by the most decidedly masculine part of him?

"You  _really_  don't want to play the word game with me today, Malfoy," Hermione said in a soft voice, glaring at him.

"Really?" he smirked wickedly, pinching her even tighter when Hermione tried to get up.

Ceasing her struggles, Hermione glared at him before leaning closer to whisper in his ear, not wanting to point out his problem with Ron or Pansy listening, but all too willing to ridicule the boy whose lap she'd landed upon.

"Don't argue about who's reacting to whom when you're prodding at my arse like that, Malfoy," Hermione whispered, being sure to let her lips brush his ear, just to watch him squirm. "Is that a broomstick in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?"

He growled at her. Legitimately growled. Hermione froze for a moment before pulling away quickly. She took Ron's hand when he offered it to her, yanking her out of Malfoy's grip and back to her feet.

"Don't think I won't get you for this, mudblood," Draco sneered, also getting to his feet. "Pansy, any good at Fiendfyre? It seems I've got a little scum on my robes."

Pansy tittered like the ridiculous, spiteful cow she was and Hermione curled her lip in annoyance.

"Tell that to what's inside your robes, Malfoy," Hermione retorted. "Come on, Ron. I feel like I need a bath. Snakes always give me the creeps."

Ron laughed, shoving Pansy down into a seat and out of their way, making the witch squeal in protest. Hermione's heart was pounding inside her chest and she needed to get away as quickly as possible. Malfoy smelled familiar, she realised, but not in a way she could put her finger on. Hermione was certain she'd heard Draco growl, and her mind recoiled at the idea. Was he the werewolf who'd bitten her in the woods?

No, surely he couldn't be.

Remus had said that whomever her wolf-mate was, he would likely be unable to resist her at the very sight or scent of her when they were both in human form. He'd said that the man would jump her, spurred by the wolf to claim what Fate had deemed rightfully his. He'd told Hermione that she'd potentially end up ravaged upon first interaction with her mate in human form. It couldn't be Draco Malfoy. Her luck couldn't be  _that_  bad. Maybe her sensitive Animagus hearing was just attributing too much to the sound of a human making an animal sound. After all, it wasn't uncommon for wizards to much such a sound. Harry made it often when he was annoyed about something, and Ron was prone to it too, when he was extremely frustrated or biting back words he knew he shouldn't say.

Why shouldn't Malfoy be the same? Certainly it was unexpected for such a noise to come from a boy who prided himself on being refined and pompous and dignified by wizarding standards, but she  _had_  provoked him. When Malfoy made no attempts to stop her departure or to hunt her down, as Remus had said her mate would, she sighed in relief.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" Ron asked. "You wanted to get out of there and away from Malfoy in a hurry."

"He's just so vile," Hermione said. "And I fell into his lap. I'm surprised he didn't hex me or shove me onto the floor."

"He's a right foul git, is what he is," Ron agreed. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "Thanks for helping me up before he could dump me onto the floor, Ron."

"What are friends for, right?" Ron said, slinging an arm around her shoulder as they made their way back down the corridor of the train in search of Harry. "Reckon he's a Death Eater like Harry thinks?"

"Maybe," Hermione sighed. "He's vile enough, but I still don't think Voldemort would ask someone so bloody thick to be in his ranks. Not while he's still at school. Certainly not while he might be caught with a Dark Mark. And it's not like he actually gives those out lightly. My understanding is that they only get Marked and get to call themselves Death Eaters when they've proven their unwavering loyalty to him. If he just went around Marking everyone who agreed with his radical notions, it would have been a lot easier to round them all up and prove who was and wasn't a Death Eater the first time he fell."

"He probably wouldn't want a sod like Malfoy, anyway. He's a right bastard, but he's a coward. What use is there making a soldier out of someone who'll be too scared to do your bidding?"

"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "Oh, this one is us. Harry looks grumpy again."

"He's always bloody grumpy these days," Ron sighed. "Listen... about earlier..."

"With Lavender?" Hermione asked, smirking. "You realise she fancies you, right?"

"What?" Ron said blankly, his ears turning red. "You reckon?"

"Boys are so impossible dense sometimes," Hermione pretended to lament. "Of course she fancies you, Ron. She's had her eye on you since the end of last year when you did so well at Quidditch. Not to mention she thinks we're all famous for our stunts at the Ministry and she probably wants to mooch off the idea of you being famous to make a bigger name for herself."

"She..." Ron frowned. "But I thought you...?"

Ron's eyes searched her face for a moment, obviously looking for some hint of jealousy or some indication that she fancied him and was hurt at the idea of another girl doing the same.

"Maybe you should ask her to Hogsmeade," Hermione said, the words tasting bitter on her tongue even as she delivered them as sweetly and as encouragingly as possible.

Ron's face reflected hurt for a few moments before he concealed it.

"Yeah," he grunted. "Maybe I will."

With that said, he jerked open the door to the compartment and let himself back inside, leaving Hermione in the corridor before she followed him. He didn't look at her or speak to her for the remainder of the journey to Hogwarts.

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"Are you alright?" Pansy asked him in a low voice when they sat at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall later that night. Draco was in a positively foul mood. Letting Granger go from his lap had almost cost him his sanity. He could barely stand to sit there, unmoving, across the hall from the wretched little bitch, without getting up and going to her. His wolf was driving him mad and he wanted to bite her.

She was the she-wolf from the forest, the little animagus who'd played with him all night in the forest. The one he'd bitten. She'd sought him out again at the following full moon, when he'd been unable to get away from Greyback and the rest of the pack. Had she seen him transform? Did she  _know_  he was a werewolf? Draco didn't know and he needed to find out. Greyback had pulled him aside for a conversation shortly after that night at the last full moon to tell him some extremely frustrating facts about lycanthropy and Draco was snarling softly under his breath with the restraint it took to remain in his chair.

He knew all about the Soulmate Principle. He knew he was fated to find one witch in all existence who was meant for him. The Fates certainly were cruel fucking bitches that they'd chosen Hermione bloody Granger for him.

He'd bitten her as the wolf, marking her, claiming her. And Greyback had warned him that until he bit her in human form and fucked her stupid, claiming her as the man as well as the monster, she could potentially figure out his secret and kill him off before he could tie her to him for the rest of their lives. He had to fuck her before she could bump him off to guarantee she'd be able to one day have kids with whomever she liked, rather than only with him.

Greyback had told him that he'd done what he could to keep her from figuring out it was him after the full moon, chasing the little bitch away from them before dawn so he'd be lost in the confusion as the transformation reversed, refusing to let her figure out his secret. Greyback had said he thought the bitch was with the Order of the Phoenix because he'd smelled Lupin on her and he'd been right.

Of all the witches in the fucking world, why did it have to be her?

Greyback had urged him to find whoever the little bitch happened to be when she was human, and insisted that Draco mark her before she could figure out his secret and give him away. Before she could kill him off. Draco's Alpha had also made mention of the types of offspring that came from mate-bonds, how they were stronger, more powerful, simply  _better_  than any other werewolf and any other wizard. Greyback had stressed how rare it was for anyone to ever encounter their mate at all, let alone be able to claim them before they figured it out. He'd claimed it was nigh on impossible to find one's mate.

And Granger was Draco's.

The idea sickened him. What kind of rotten, fucked up luck did he have that all in one year he was a Death Eater, a werewolf and now fucking fated to a Merlin cursed Mudblood. A bitch of one, no less. She was a right bitch and Draco  _loathed_  her.

"I'm fine," Draco growled in response to Pansy's tentative question, slanting a glare toward the girl when she put her hand on his arm. He suspected he was unintentionally baring his teeth because Pansy recoiled at the grimace upon his lips.

"Fine, sorry," Pansy said, withdrawing and sliding away down the table to sit closer to Theo.

Theo eyed him worriedly. Nott Senior was a Death Eater alongside Draco, and Draco suddenly wondered if the bastard had told Theo about his lycanthropy, too. The idea annoyed him. Zabini looked suspicious and curious over his foul mood, rather resembling a big cat who's just spied a gopher to toy with. Draco fought the urge to lunge at the dark-skinned wizard just to warn him away from the idea. Zabini had always been too curious for his own good and Draco was all too willing to defend his secret. Crabbe and Goyle remained stoic, neither of them saying a word, though they too eyed him warily, obviously having heard all about how he'd killed a man to earn the Dark Mark burned into his flesh. Draco was surer than ever that both dolts knew he was a werewolf.

He wondered if any of them were going to say anything or going to treat him differently. He knew that, were their situations reversed, Draco would already be shunning the bastards and it made him feel like shit when he realised that if they  _did_  know and they weren't being cunts to him, he was all the more rubbish a bloke. He fought the urge to bare his teeth at them, too. It wasn't their fault his was a fucking monster, and it wasn't their fault being a monster had fucked him sideways and landed him with Hermione fucking Granger for a fucking soul-mate.

The noise of the hall was giving him a headache and Draco vibrated with the urge to jump up, race across the hall, fling Granger down and claim her. The wolf was undoubtedly in his eyes, threatening to give him away, and his nails kept almost sharpening to feral black claws. If this kept up he'd have to nick Pansy's black nail-polish and paint it onto his fingers to hide the way they changed colour every time they sharpened. He'd prefer everyone to think him some angst-riddled tosspot than a werewolf. He didn't want to shift in front of his friends, he didn't want to claim Granger – no matter what the fucking beast in him wanted - and if he wasn't so hungry after skipping breakfast and being unable to stomach anything on the train, he'd have already left the Great Hall to better leash the wolf and hide his condition.

Draco growled again, furious that this new development might expose his secret to his friends. Hell, at this rate he was liable to expose himself to the whole fucking school! One more thing to blame Granger for. The fucking bitch!

Draco wanted to hate her for being in that glade that night, on his first full moon. He wanted to rip into her flesh with his teeth and make her pay for being his mate, for being there, for this wretched twist of fate. But he also knew that had she not been in the glade that night, he wouldn't have marked her as the wolf and he wouldn't have had any warning that she was his mate. When she'd fallen in his lap on the train, he'd have had zero warning not to throw her down and claim her.

Hell, it wasn't as though she was likely to agree with what his wolf wanted, either, given that the hatred between them was tangible and entirely mutual. He'd have risked raping the wretched bitch, right there in front of everyone. No, he couldn't hate her for being in the glade that night, or for being an Animagus or even for being his Mate. He could hate her for existing, but Draco was a rational human being – most of the time – and he wouldn't stoop low enough to blame her for things as beyond her control as they were beyond his.

"If you keep growling like that," Goyle leaned over a short time later as they all dug into the feast, devouring the food and not talking much thanks to Draco's foul mood. "I'm going to drag you down to the dungeons and beat you senseless. You're going to give everything away and tip off the whole fucking school, you tosspot!"

Draco almost ripped his throat out. Only Goyle's big meaty hand shooting out and catching Draco by the throat kept him from lunging at the bastard and ripping his throat out. Draco was so shocked by Goyle's threat and by the strength in his arm that kept him from attacking, that he actually stopped growling.

"Fuck!" Draco cursed, jerking back out of Goyle's grip before anyone could notice.

"Yeah," Goyle said, narrowing his eyes slightly and making Draco remember just that in spite of sometimes seeming thicker than a concussed troll, the bastard was his best bloody mate. "That's what I thought. Get a hold of yourself, or I'll chain you up until you do, Malfoy."

"Sorry," Draco said between clenched teeth, his nails shifting enough to bite into the palms of his hands.

"What do you need me to do to get this shit under control?" Goyle asked in a low voice, flicking his wand to keep the others from noticing their interactions and from overhearing their discussion.

"Nothing. It's nothing. Don't worry about it," Draco growled.

"Fuck off, Malfoy," Goyle swore at him, his eyes narrowing angrily. "You're a right fucking cunt for thinking you could actually keep this shit from me to begin with, mostly because Dad's a Death Eater, too, but also because I'm your best bloody friend and just about the only one who can still throw you around if it comes to it, werewolf or not."

"You know, then?"

"Course I do," Goyle grunted. "No thanks to you, fuck face. Now what's your fucking problem? You weren't this bad over the summer except for before the full moons."

Draco curled his lip.

"It's a…" Draco frowned, glancing around before pulling his own wand to make sure no one would hear them. "Being a half-breed monster comes with perks."

"Strength, hearing, speed?" Goyle listed. "I know, mate. I might seem bloody stupid, but I do remember studying werewolves in class."

"Extra perks," Draco sighed, trying to drain the tension from his body and almost losing control of the wolf. He was nearly out of his chair before Goyle pinned him, this time with that meaty hand on Draco's knee.

"Such as?" Goyle asked.

"It's called a fucking Soul-Mate Principle," Draco admitted to the boy, realising as he did so that it felt good to actually be able to tell someone; to talk about his condition to someone who wasn't Greyback.

"Read about that," Goyle nodded, surprising the hell out of Draco.

"You… read about it?" Draco frowned.

"If you pretend to be surprised that I can read again, fuck-face, I'll thump you for spite," Goyle threatened him. "When your best mate becomes a fucking werewolf and you've got to share a bloody dormitory with him, you figure out what the hell you need to know about werewolves, you idiot. I know  _all_  about your condition. Likely know more than you, at this point."

"Doubtful," Draco drawled and Goyle socked him in the arm hard enough to deaden it. "If you know what it is then you don't need me to explain it."

"You found her?" Goyle confirmed, looking shocked. "You... that's supposed to be rare, Draco. Really rare. Like, they call it a bloody myth because it's so infrequent that people doubt its factual correctness."

"I'm aware. Let's just say my luck officially ran out last year and leave it at that, yeah?" Draco sighed.

"Who is it?" Goyle wanted to know.

"I'm not telling you that," Draco shot him a witheringly glare.

"Someone embarrassing then," Goyle smirked. He kept hold of Draco as he scanned the hall with his eyes, searching for the most likely candidate.

Draco kept his eyes resolutely fixed anywhere but on Granger.

"It's Granger, isn't it?" Goyle said after a long moment and Draco's eyebrows became extremely acquainted with his hairline. "It is. You've got that look you get when something's true but you don't want to admit it. Your soul-mate is Granger."

"If you tell anyone I will literally rip your throat out with my teeth," Draco threatened.

"Save it for someone who's afraid of you, mate," Goyle laughed. "Puny thing like you? I can hold you off with one hand, werewolf-strength or not."

"Let's never test the theory," Draco muttered.

"You've got to claim her, you know?" Goyle told him. "The longer you put it off, the worse things are going to get. You're barely staying in your chair with your beast riding you hard enough to claim her."

"I've already bitten her," Draco admitted softly, glancing over at Goyle, the anchoring hold of being pinned in place actually helping him leash the wolf. He felt the tingle in his eyes when they returned to their usual silver.

"Granger's a werewolf too?" Goyle asked, raising his eyebrows.

"She's an Animagus," Draco shook his head. "Unregistered. A wolf."

"They always are when they're mated to a werewolf," Goyle nodded, surprising Draco again. The bastard really had done his research. The idea baffled Draco. "You marked her while you were both transformed, then?"

Draco nodded his head.

"Shit. That's even worse. You got to claim her, mate. If you don't, eventually you'll lose control and likely fuck her in the halls for everyone to see. Potter and Weasley will use the Killing Curse on you if you touch her."

"And how the fuck am I supposed to claim her when she bloody hates me, Goyle?" Draco demanded. "She's a fucking mudblood. Father will kill me! Worse, she's joined the Order. I reckon she's going to take issue with my new tattoo when she sees it."

"She's all about advocating creature rights, though," Goyle shrugged. "She's not going to care that you're a werewolf. She'll care that you're a Death Eater. And that you're… you know… you."

Draco growled at him.

"I don't know what to tell you, Draco. She'll never willingly go out with you. Even if she were inclined to fancy you, she wouldn't go out with you. Not with her friends being who they are, yours being who we are, and your family being who they are. Not when we're at war and her best mate is the bloody Chosen One. You'll have to claim he by force."

"You're  _encouraging_  me to rape her?" Draco spat, glaring at Goyle.

"I'm saying you've got no fucking choice. Unless you want to go to her and spill your secrets and ask her, real sweet, if she'll  _let_  you shag her stupid and tie her to you for the rest of her life. She can't have kids with anyone else once you mark her, even if you die. She's more likely to murder you than to agree to fuck you. We could get her drunk and you could seduce her, if you've got moral issues with needing her consent."

"Inebriation doesn't substitute for consent, you fucking ingrate!" Draco growled.

"No big words, mate. I read up on your condition, but I'm still fucking slow. Don't laugh at me, fucker!" Goyle scowled when Draco did, indeed, laugh.

"If she's drunk she can't agree to it."

"Bullshit. Millie gets drunk and agrees to fuck me all the time," Goyle said.

"Millie has a few and gets frisky," Draco corrected. "The amount of whiskey I'd have to pour into Granger to get her to fuck me would likely kill her. And if it didn't kill her, she'd certainly be unconscious or black-out drunk and not know what she was saying, if she could talk at all."

"I'm not seeing another option, Draco," Goyle shrugged. "Drunk and pliant would be better than screaming, crying and trying to fight you off, wouldn't it?"

"I'm not going to fucking rape her!" Draco growled.

"You won't have a choice!" Goyle argued hotly. "If you resist too long, your wolf is going to take you over and fuck her to claim her whether you're keen or not. Do you get that?"

Draco growled in coherently.

"There's always… love potion," Goyle suggested when Draco didn't say anything for several long minutes.

"I don't  _want_  to claim her. I don't want to be associated with a bushy-haired little mudblood!" he snapped.

"Yeah?" Goyle asked, turning to look in Granger's direction. "I don't know, mate. Those wild curls aren't really bushy anymore. Just… wild. I wouldn't mind sinking my hands into all that while I fucked her face."

He caught Draco by the throat a second time when Draco lunged at him, snarling, and he deflected the clawed-hand Draco slashed in his direction, catching the dagger-sharp claws across his forearm rather than his face.

"Oh yeah," Goyle laughed, holding him off and surprising the hell out of Draco with his quick reflexes and his apparent strength as he held Draco at arm's length, one hand crushing his windpipe until he stopped snarling.

Draco hadn't realised Goyle was actually  _that_  strong.

"You… how are you…?" Draco floundered, trying to understand.

Goyle stared at him drolly. "You didn't actually think I was this big and this slow without reason, did you?"

Draco frowned at him, trying to understand.

"Come on, Malfoy," Goyle sneered. "Don't be thick. You know what they say about my family and our 'purity'."

Draco's eyes went wide in shock. Yeah, he knew what they said. The said that two hundred years ago one of the Goyle men had married a half-giantess. They whispered that the Goyle line was still tainted with the strain, making them big and slow and stupid. Draco had never really believed it. He'd joked about it a time or two, but he hadn't actually thought there was any truth in it. They were purebloods.

"You really didn't know?" Goyle laughed. "You teased me often enough, I figured you did."

"You're… part-giant?" Draco asked.

"You're lucky I am, puny werewolf, or you'd have murdered your best mate," Goyle told him. "What? No sneer on your lips this time to find out I'm a half-breed, too?"

"I never believed it," Draco frowned. "How did…?"

"They get away with it and bury the fact?" Goyle smirked at him. "Same way all the pureblood families hide their quirks and idiosyncrasies, mate. Sweep it under the rug and lie through your fucking teeth. Now, stop trying to rip my throat out or I'm going to sit on you."

"You're bleeding," Draco pointed out, nodding at the blood now dripping from the gashes his ripped into the other boy's forearm.

"I'll live," Goyle shrugged, apparently unfazed by the pain. "The sooner you get over the denial you feel at the idea of fucking a mudblood, the better. If you don't claim her, you're going to kill someone. She's old enough to be dating and she's pretty enough to catch a few eyes. I might not always be around to keep you from slashing throats if she doesn't know who she belongs to."

"If I tell her, she'll kill me," Draco said, pulling his friend's hand from his windpipe and gasping for breath.

"Then don't  _tell_  her. She's seen the wolf, right? You bit her when you transformed. She's a fucking know-it-all, mate, and she's been living with Lupin. She'll  _know_  about the Mate Principle and likely knows she's got a mate who's a werewolf. She'll be expecting an attack of some kind. So give her the attack, just don't let her know it's you."

"How am I going to keep her from knowing it's me if I've got to fuck her to claim her?" Draco asked.

Goyle punched him again, deadening his other arm. "Fuck her from behind, you idiot!"

Draco glanced across the hall at the witch in question where she was sitting, eyeing the occupants of the hall suspiciously. She was prettier than she'd been in their early years, but she was still no great beauty. Never would be, he imagined. Draco curled his lip at the idea that she belonged to him. Maybe Goyle was right. Maybe it would be in his best interests to claim her just to keep him from killing anyone.

She tensed, feeling his gaze, and Draco looked away before she could catch him staring. If he was going to claim her without letting her know  _he_  was her mate, he would have to make a plan, he supposed.

One thing was certain, the witch wouldn't see him coming until it was entirely too late.


	8. Chapter 8

Being back at school felt strange to Hermione. The routine of attending class, attending meals, and spending countless hours in the library was easy enough to fall into, but more often than not during the first week of being back, she found herself asking Ron or Harry if they'd seen Remus or Sirius, or if Molly needed a hand with anything in the kitchen, or where the twins were. She was adjusting slowly and the others seemed to be having the same trouble.

School simply felt silly and like a waste of their time when every day the  _Daily Prophet_  reported more people missing. More dead. More injured. Attacks on muggles were getting out of hand and hundreds had been killed. Hermione felt impotent sitting inside the classroom, knowing that she was skilled enough to be helping. Their encounter with the Death Eaters at the Ministry had reminded her that for all their cockiness, they were still just children. They didn't have the power or the skill-base yet to engage in duels with gifted witches and wizards.

"I think we should start up with DA again," Hermione mused to her friends late on Saturday while they all lounged in front of the fire. Harry and Ron were in the middle of a chess game, Ginny was finishing off some homework and Neville was reading up on the latest Herbology articles Professor Sprout had given him, sprawled across the couch as he read, muttering to himself about the different plants.

"Really?" Harry asked, looking over. "I'm keen."

"We wouldn't have to hide it this year, obviously," Hermione went on. "But it was good practice and I know we weren't the only ones to benefit from it. Learning in the classroom is well and good, and for all that he's a tyrant, Professor Snape is a good teacher for the subject, but I still think extra practice outside of lessons would be useful."

"I'm up for it," Ginny said. "We'll have to work a new schedule around everyone's Quidditch training sessions and prefect duties, but we could do it."

"I learned more from you lot than I ever did in the classroom," Neville admitted. "And I'm already falling behind with Snape teaching Defence instead of Potions. My Potions grades have improved, though."

"Let's do it," Ron grinned. "Should we spread the word?"

Hermione nodded. "I was actually thinking that, since we haven't got to hide it, we could get Professor McGonagall or Professor Dumbledore to sign off on allowing it as a study-group and we could invite whoever wants to come."

"I don't know," Harry mused. "That could attract too much attention. You remember what happened last year. A bunch of people only wanted to do it to gawk at me."

"That's true. Too many people and it will get unruly and out of hand, too," Ron said. "I say we offer it to whichever Gryffindor kids want to do it and only the ones we like from other houses."

"McGonagall will never go for that," Ginny spoke up. "She can't sign off on a study group that excludes people because of house affiliation, and you know we wouldn't ask any of the Slytherins."

"We could," Neville disagreed. "I mean, none of them are likely to show up. Or if they do, they will only do it to goof off or pick a fight and we can boot them. It might feel a bit like training the enemy to better fight us, but at the end of the day the ones who are mini-Death Eaters, like Malfoy and them, they're not going to come along, are they? If there's some little fourth year kid who could use the help and is willing to be seen with us, why not help them?"

"He's got a point, Harry," Hermione said. "Not every single student in Slytherin is inherently evil. Some of them might be struggling to fit in and need some help to fight back if they're being picked on by the older students or the others in their year group."

" _You_  want to teach Slytherins?" Harry asked her mildly. "If we're doing all this with more people than those in the original DA, they'll all be at different skill levels. I don't want the original DA members missing out on learning new stuff, or getting bored with old stuff, when we have to go over some of the stuff we covered last year."

"It couldn't hurt to cover it all again," Ginny argued. "I mean, there were a few spells that we moved on from before I'd mastered them. If we touch on all the ones from last year, everyone who knows how to do it get a refresher course for a week or two, and everyone else learns. And then we dive into new stuff. The only trouble will be the size of the group."

"She's right. If we throw it open to everyone, imagine the amount of sods that will turn up. Not just to gawk at Harry, either. Some might be genuinely keen, but this is supposed to be fun, not about the lot of us trying to teach the masses. They've got the teachers for that. With the DA there was, what? Fifty of us at our biggest? What if a hundred people turn up?"

"I don't think they will," Hermione said. "They might, for the first one, but once the hype wears off, a lot would leave. Essentially, it's a study group – if we worded it as one not many people would turn up because not everyone wants to study. Rather than advertising it as a resurrected DA, we would sell it as practical study sessions. You wouldn't even have to teach it. Sometimes it's helpful when trying to learn a new spell, to have someone else around who knows how. It would be all of us helping each other, not just you teaching everyone, Harry."

"And Snape?" Harry asked mildly. "You think he won't get his nose out of joint when he hears we're teaching Defence? He'll think we think he's the next Umbridge and he'll murder us all."

"He's not a bad teacher and I think he knows that," Hermione argued. "We could even ask him to look in on them occasionally. We could ask all four heads of house."

"Half the fun of DA was sneaking around. I don't want to go if it's just studying," Ron grumbled.

"And that's exactly the attitude that will turn people away. But it will be DA to us," Hermione pointed out. "It's still going to be us having duels and learning to defend ourselves and training. I don't know about you, but I'm still furious over what happened in the Ministry, not just because they attacked but because we barely got out of there alive. People are dying out there.  _We_  almost died. I don't want to be too slow with my Shields ever again; not after Dolohov's curse hit me. I don't want to be unprepared for the ruthlessness of duelling a Death Eater. I don't want to lose," Hermione said passionately. "I want to win. I want to know going into a fight that I can win; I want the confidence of knowing my spells and knowing they're strong enough."

"You really want to go through McGonagall to do it?" Harry asked, nodding along with her.

"We have to," Hermione sighed. "We only got away with it last year because everyone wanted to piss off Umbridge. If we try a secret group where students duel this year, without permission or supervision, we'll all get detention."

"What do we have to do to get permission?" Neville asked.

"The same as any group," Hermione shrugged. "Apply for permission from a teacher. I'll draft the proposal for it as soon as I can put together a schedule to work around everyone's Quidditch training and prefect stuff. I already have the prefect time-table. I need a time-table for the pitch for training."

"I've got one," Harry said, fishing around in the bag at his feet and pulling it out.

"You've booked training almost every day," she frowned.

"Every day, actually. No 'almost' about it. Even Sundays. But we could shift one or two to morning sessions if we're doing DA, too," Harry grinned.

"Let me make the time-table and draft a proposal. Do you think we should ask Professor Snape, or just go straight to Professor McGonagall?"

"Snape will say no," Harry shrugged. "He lives to piss us off."

"He does not," Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'll ask him about it, but there's nothing to say we only have to focus on Defence spells. We could cover Charms and Transfiguration, too. Whatever spells are useful, really. The more you know."

"You're entirely too excited about studying at all times," Ron informed her, though he smiled a little.

Hermione offered her hand for him to shake. "Hermione Granger," she pretended to introduce herself. They all laughed and Hermione smiled to herself as she began drafting a time-table for the DA meetings.


	9. Chapter 9

"Practical Study Sessions," Draco read aloud, a sneer in his voice when he spotted the notice on the noticeboard in the common room. "Led by senior students Potter, Weasley and Granger? What the fuck is this doing in  _our_ common room?"

"Don't rip it down," Goyle warned, lumbering over to look at it. "You know what this means?"

"They're starting their Defence group again," Draco smirked cruelly. "Dumbledore's Army, wasn't it? Only this time they've got written permission to have their little duelling club."

"Why advertise it down here?" Crabbe asked thickly. "None of us would go to anything involving Potter's gang."

"Actually," Theo spoke up, joining them. "I think we should."

"What? Why?" Goyle frowned.

"Know thy enemy," Draco answered for Theo. "Their duelling club last year was mostly because Umbridge was a bloody toad, but it was about learning to fight. More importantly, learning to fight us. Or our fathers, anyway. They're training to fight the Dark Lord."

"And you want to join them?" Crabbe frowned.

"I want to find out how good they are," Theo smirked. "And if we learn a thing or two along the way  _and_  we get to duel Potter and his minions, I'd say it sounds perfect. Think of it as an opportunity to put those little shits in their place and make them realise that they've got competition in us."

"When do they meet?" Goyle asked, also smirking.

"Tonight at seven in the Room of Requirement," Draco read. "Fuckers."

He needed the Room of Requirement for his task, blast it all! The last thing he needed was Potter's gang clogging it up and taking it out of commission to use for duelling purposes. He had a Vanishing Cabinet to mend, confound it all!

"Imagine their faces when we walk in," Theo laughed coldly. "I'll bet you ten sickles that Potter blows a fuse and screams at us to leave."

"He can't kick us out unless we violate the rules," Draco laughed, too. "Granger will draft them, so they'll be air-tight. But we can keep to the rules while skirting around them, I think."

"I call first duel with that uppity little bitch," Theo said. "I've been wanting to put her in her place since first year."

A soft growl tried to work its way free of Draco at the very idea of his friend anywhere near his mate. He was still fine-tuning his plan to mark her, but this might be a perfect opportunity to get a read on how she was going to take it and how big a fight she might put up. He'd been watching her all week, though he'd fortunately only had one class with her so far, and Draco had been forced to endure having Goyle pin him in place in Charms and refuse to let him move an inch to keep him from marking her.

He was ashamed to say he'd begun relying on the other boy to help him control himself, letting Goyle strong-arm him out of corridors where Granger happened to be; letting the big oaf sling an arm around him and refuse to release him until he was past her when they crossed paths. With the next full moon just a week away his libido had begun to rage, in addition to his already furious and unruly wolf thanks to the urge to mark his soulmate. Draco was already counting on Goyle to save him from himself and he still didn't know what he was going to do for the night of the full moon without giving away that there was a new werewolf at Hogwarts.

Snape had issued him a direct order last night that he report to his office every evening for the entire week for the Wolfsbane potion to allow him to keep his mind, but Draco wasn't sure he wanted to take it. At this point he'd almost welcome the surrender of his faculties to the wolf for the night if he could stop bloody thinking about Granger. The bitch had well and truly worked her way under his skin and he was losing his mind, he was sure.

He thought about her constantly, the wolf never letting him forget her for longer than a minute or two. In the shower. In class. In the halls. In bed. When he was supposed to be studying or fixing the Vanishing Cabinet or eating dinner. The little bitch was always there, tormenting his psyche whether she was actually present or not. His wolf was more than a little bit obsessed and the idea of holding off on marking her for much longer was unbearable.

His libido always increased in the week preceding the full moon, Wolfsbane Potion or not, and Draco was positively itching to run her down and fuck her until she screamed his name and knew exactly who she belonged to.

Goyle caught him before Draco could lunge at Theo and give away his secret. The fact that he could smell Granger's scent lingering on the poster pinned to the notice-board – suggesting she'd been into their very common room and he'd  _missed_  it – wasn't helping matters and the idea of his friend attempting to out-duel his mate didn't sit well with Draco. What was the world coming to that he was so bloody invested not just in the claiming of that fucking mudblood, but in protecting her, too? He wanted to warn Theo away because the bitch belonged to him but also because that wicked gleam in Theo's eyes suggested that he'd hurt her if he could.

"She might be a mudblood, but there's no way you're quick enough to keep up with that one, Theo," Goyle commented, sneering to distract them all from Draco's reaction. Draco had no idea if Zabini and Nott had figured out his secret yet – they likely would by the time the full moon rolled around – but he didn't fancy the fallout that might come when they knew. Theo curled his lip at the idea of Goyle suggesting Granger might be better at magic than him.

None of them liked to admit it, given that she was a mudblood.

"We'll see," he muttered darkly. "Come on, we better get to class."

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"What are  _they_  doing here?" Harry growled at seven o'clock that evening, watching as people began filing into the Room of Requirement for their first DA meeting under the newly dubbed 'study sessions'. Hermione had been careful to name them such not only to keep the Professors from wanting to interfere or oversee things too closely, but also to deter what might otherwise end up being half the school trying to squeeze into the room all at once.

Hermione looked up at the aggression in Harry's tone and she blinked in surprise to see Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott and Zabini all swaggering into the training hall they'd asked the Room of Requirement to provide.

"Oh, no," she sighed.

"Hermione, you swore this wouldn't happen!" Harry hissed at her. "You said when you put that bloody poster in their common room that they wouldn't turn up because it was us."

"I think that might be exactly why they  _have_  showed up," Hermione muttered back to the messy haired boy. "Look at them, Harry. They're practically vibrating with the urge to watch you lose your temper and tell them to get out. And you can't do it. McGonagall and Snape insisted that for this to be allowed, we had to invite whomever might want to learn. If you try to throw them out, they're just going to make a big show and dance of how you can't push them around like that. Just… let me handle it, alright?"

"How are  _you_  going to handle it?" Harry argued. "They loudly refer to you as a mudblood, Hermione. They don't deserve the chance to learn how to fight us."

"That's exactly why they're here," Hermione said, shoving her hands against Harry's chest when he made like he might storm over to them and pick a fight. "They want to start a fight and they want to see this closed down before anyone else has the chance to learn how to fight off their wretched fathers. Just go and help Ron with the cushions, Harry. I'll deal with it."

"'Dealing with it' better mean kicking them out, Hermione," Harry snapped, stomping away.

Hermione narrowed her eyes on her best friend's back as he stormed off, flicking his wand too hard and duplicating the pillows Ron was crafting so much that Ron tripped over them, suddenly submerged in a sea of cushions.

"Bloody git," Hermione muttered, turning her attention back toward the door, intent of figuring out what to say to the Slytherins. She almost jumped out of her skin when she turned and found Draco Malfoy very much inside her personal space, flanked on either side by the rest of the boys.

"You don't look very pleased to see us, Granger," Malfoy drawled, his wretched smirk in place, those grey eyes boring into hers.

"Oh, did you forget, Malfoy?" Hermione said before she could think better of it, raking him a look of disgust. "You're the one always so  _happy_  to see me."

She looked pointedly toward the front of his trousers and Malfoy curled his lip at the reminder of how 'happy' he'd been to see her when she'd fallen into his lap on the train.

"What's the matter, Granger?" Goyle sneered. "Potter and your little buddies don't seem too pleased to see us."

"Imagine that," Hermione snarked in retort, rolling her eyes. "If you're here for the study session you'll all be needing to sign here."

She stepped to one side, revealing a long list of parchment on a desk to her left.

"The last time anyone signed a list for you little duelling club, that Ravenclaw bitch got her face ruined," Zabini argued, balking at the idea – just as Hermione hoped they all would.

"What's the matter, Zabini?" Hermione smirked cruelly. "Worried something might happen to your pretty face?"

Zabini curled his lip at her and Malfoy made a noise that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. He was still inside her personal space, his eyes fixed on her and if Hermione didn't know better, she'd almost think he looked hungry.

"We're not signing," Nott spoke up.

"Then you're not staying," Hermione shrugged, smiling sweetly. "Rules of the group are that you must sign the scroll. It's to better keep track of attendance, like the teachers do in class. Every week you've got to sign that you were here so we know who has missed what if you skip a few."

"It's just study session," Crabbe frowned. "Why are you taking a roll?"

"Professor McGonagall's orders," Hermione smiled. "She wants to be kept appraised of who is attending so that, should any of us wind up in the Hospital Wing if things get out of hand, she'll know who might be responsible."

"Cursed the parchment again, Granger?" Malfoy asked in a low voice, his hand twitching as though he wanted to grab the quill, or perhaps her.

"Sign it and find out, Malfoy," Hermione grinned, enjoying the challenge, sure that the five of them would turn tail and leave at the thought that they could be monitored or hexed through signing.

"Got a quill?" Malfoy asked in reply, stepping closer, invading her personal space even more. Hermione had to tip her head up to hold his gaze when she stood so close and she wondered if he'd always been this tall.

A shiver rushed through her to stand inside his presence. She caught the scent of his cologne from this close, like spices and sandalwood. But there was another scent, too. Something earthy; wilder. Hermione narrowed her eyes on Malfoy, handing him the quill she was holding and almost jumping out of her skin when his hand brushed hers with a strange jolt of magic and something else. A spark of electricity seemed to run all the way up her arm, settling in the bite mark on her shoulder, which suddenly tingled.

Hermione held her breath, watching Malfoy watch her, holding her ground but suddenly feeling the very acute sensation that she should turn tail and run. He smirked at her, real slow, his eyes dancing over her face cruelly before he leaned around her and scrawled his name across the parchment underneath her own.

"You're actually signing?" Zabini asked, voice tight, obviously not trusting that Hermione wouldn't have done something to the paper to affect them should they put a toe out of line.

"You should know," Hermione hummed, her heart pounding a little faster than it ought to. "By signing, you agree to all the rules of the group. Breaking them will be… less than pleasant for you."

Malfoy straightened slowly.

"And what rules might those be?" he asked archly.

"They're on the table next to the list. If you can't follow them, you shouldn't sign," Hermione said, smiling sweetly.

"I've already signed."

"Then you've already agreed to the rules," Hermione smirked at him. "See that you follow them, Malfoy. You won't like the consequences if you don't."

"You think there's anything  _you_  could do that scares me, little mudblood?" he asked in a low, cold voice, moving even closer, apparently having learned that his height and imposing personality were rather looming and unsettling. Indeed, there was something about him that made her want to pull her wand on him threateningly and she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

What if Remus had been wrong about the urge of a werewolf to jump his mate on sight? After all, he'd resisted jumping Tonks for months. What if…?

Hermione was relatively sure all the colour slipped from her cheeks as her eyes darted over Malfoy's face for a moment. Right up until he suddenly arched his back, hissing in pain. The effect of the curse on the parchment.

"Rule number nine, Malfoy," Hermione said, her voice tight. "No one in this group will use derogatory terms to address their peers in reference to blood status."

"Fucking hell," Malfoy snarled, his teeth bared now and Hermione felt the very real urge to run when she noticed how sharp his teeth looked.

No. It couldn't be. She was just imagining things. Paranoid. She'd spent too long worrying about who might be her mate. It couldn't be Malfoy. He'd never survive being bitten and infected with lycanthropy. He'd sooner kill himself than allow himself to live on as a werewolf. He was  _that_  prejudiced. Surely she was imagining things.

"You alright?" Goyle asked from behind him, hovering very close behind Malfoy as though he might pounce onto him at any moment.

Hermione slanted a glance at the lumbering Slytherin boy. Up until that very moment, she'd only ever considered Goyle to be one of Malfoy's cronies. A dim-witted troll of a boy who was more muscle than brain and essentially only kept around to protect Malfoy should the need arise. When she looked at him, however, she spotted that there was a cunning in his eyes and a tension in his body as though he would grab Malfoy should he suddenly lunge at her.

She realised with a jolt that every time she'd seen Malfoy all year, outside of the prefect meeting when she'd fallen in his lap, Goyle had been loitering that close or even closer to Malfoy. Occasionally going so far as to sling an arm around Malfoy when she had to pass him in the corridors. The cold chill of dread seeped into her limbs slowly and Hermione's eyes darted back to Malfoy, searching his face, looking for some clue that her fears might be confirmed.

"What the fuck kind of curse is that?" Malfoy demanded through gritted teeth, apparently not appreciating the sudden sting working its way through his body.

"One designed to prevent you from being a wretched bigot," Hermione retorted. "Sign the paper if you want to stay, boys. If not, get the hell out of our study hall."

Malfoy growled at her again and Hermione had to leave. She pushed away from the desk where she'd been leaning, having to actually press herself against Malfoy to squeeze past him. As soon as she brushed against him he went ramrod stiff and Hermione would swear his eyes flashed gold. Goyle settled a meaty hand onto the back of Malfoy's neck right at that moment and Hermione thought she might be ill. Squeezing past him, aware of the way one of his hands gripped her hip for a moment, Hermione suspected she was going to be sick.

Her stomach roiled violently and she pulled free of his hold as quickly as possible. Mechanically, she walked over to Harry and Ron, who were both muttering and looked angry at the idea of the Slytherins being there.

"Listen, I…" Hermione said, her voice thick. "I'll be back in a bit, alright?"

"Where are you going?" Harry demanded. "Are the staying? You can't leave if they're staying, Hermione."

"I'll be back," Hermione insisted, her voice sounding wooden and distant, even to her own ears. "I've got to… I don't feel well."

"Are you ill?" Harry frowned. "Did they say something to you, Hermione? You were fine a few minutes ago. You were excited, even."

"It's nothing Harry," Hermione said, aware that she was trembling as she uttered the words guaranteed to have them leave her be and not follow her. "It's a… girl problem. I'll be back from the loo in a bit."

Harry and Ron both looked extremely uncomfortable at the idea of 'girl problems'.

"Fine. But if they're dead when you return, it's on you," Harry muttered, looking away.

Hermione nodded stiffly before hurrying for the door. Before she could even cross the hall, her slow, controlled gait began to slip, her steps stuttering faster. She could feel Malfoy's eyes on her and she knew that, if what she suspected was true, running would be the very worst thing she could do. Logic, however, was overrun by fear and Hermione was running by the time she reached the door, tearing into the corridor and racing away down it.

A shout behind her spurred her to run faster and Hermione almost screamed when she heard footsteps pounding along in her wake. She didn't dare look back, tearing around another corner and letting fear spur her forward even faster. She had to get away. She had to outrun this terrible suspicion. When she rounded the next corner the corridor was deserted and without really thinking about it, Hermione slipped her skin, transforming to her wolf-form and racing on four paws, running faster.

The portraits all shouted as she raced by, many of them shocked at the idea of a wolf in the castle but Hermione didn't stop. She could still hear footsteps racing down the corridor behind her, too fast to be any but those belonging to someone with super-human speed.

A werewolf.

She didn't know where to go that she wouldn't be cornered or caught, suspecting that he could follow her scent wherever she ran and doubting that he'd care about the rules of no boys in the girl's bathrooms or no Slytherins in Gryffindor Tower. Panic gripped her and the animal within her drove her to leave the castle, to escape the stifling walls before they closed in, trapping her, crushing her, leaving her as prey.

She'd never run from the seventh floor to the Entrance Hall so fast in all her life, but she exploded onto the grounds in record time, not even thinking clearly as her animal instincts drove her toward to forest with a werewolf on her heels.


	10. Chapter 10

She'd lost him, she was certain of it. She'd run rings through the forest, crisscrossing over her own trail many times when she'd grown disoriented in the trees and the gloom. There was no way his nose would sort out the tangled web she'd weaved with her scent through the trees.

Hermione was scared, there was no doubt about it. She'd been running on adrenaline up until now, but as she crouched in Hagrid's pumpkin patch, trying to get back to the school before Harry and Ron could begin to worry about her, she finally had time to think.

Malfoy.

Malfoy was a werewolf.

Worse, Malfoy was the werewolf she'd met in the forest. Malfoy was her  _mate._  The idea turned her stomach. He was wretched to her at all times. He'd been horrid to her since they'd been stupid children in their first year. This simply couldn't  _be_. How could her luck be so rotten as to have landed her with Malfoy, of all people?

Peeking out from behind the pumpkins, Hermione scanned the grounds and the edges of the forest with her eyes for any sign of the werewolf who'd chased her into the trees. She hoped he was still lost in the forest, stumbling around and trying to find her. She hoped no one had noticed that she'd been chased out of the Room of Requirement by the git, though she somehow doubted  _that_  would have gone unnoticed.

Leaping out from behind the pumpkins, Hermione bolted on four paws towards the gleaming lights of the castle in the distance. She needed to get back before Harry and Ron began searching for her. She might've made the excuse of 'girl problems' to get away in a hurry without argument, but after this long, they would surely have sent Ginny or Luna to look for her.

Hermione didn't even want to think about what they'd have made of Malfoy running out of the hall after her. She  _really_ hoped no one had noticed that, but she suspected that her luck had officially run out. It had to have if she was stuck with bloody Malfoy.

Gods, she couldn't live like this. She couldn't stand it. She was certain she was going to be sick. Malfoy? She hated Malfoy. What were the Fates playing at, screwing her over this way? She might as well just pitch herself off the Astronomy Tower now and be done with it. No, she might as well pitch Malfoy off it. Until he bit her and shagged her in human form, the mate-bond wouldn't be sealed and she was still free to find someone else.

If he managed to catch her and shag her, it was all over. Even his death wouldn't free her form being stuck only conceiving with him should she ever want children. Her mind raced as her claws clicked against the stone floor of the corridors. She was nothing but a furry blur as the ran for the Room of Requirement once more, needing to get back in time to cease whatever terrible scenarios Harry had begun imagining.

Skidding through the halls, Hermione transformed and dashed into the seventh floor girl's bathroom. Her hands and feet were a mess, covered in mud from traipsing through the forest and there were sticks in her hair.

"Bollocks!" she cursed, eyeing her reflection even as she pulled out her wand. Hermione flicked it, cleaning herself of the evidence that she'd been in the forest outrunning her lycanthropic soulmate. As far as she was concerned the rest of the school could think she'd simply been attempting to clean up the mess of a period gone wrong and that would be fine. She could handle the embarrassment of having Harry and Ron think she'd needed to get fresh knickers and clean up a lot of blood, rather than letting them know she was the soulmate of Draco Malfoy.

"Of all the rotten luck," she muttered to herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror when she'd fixed herself up as best she could. "This is just…

Shaking her head at herself once more, Hermione squared her shoulders. There would be time to rage about this or cry about it later. For now, she was going to march herself back into the Room of Requirement, she was going to pretend she'd never heard of the Soulmate Principle and she was going to beat the stuffing out of Draco Malfoy just as soon as she'd calmed down enough to keep from actually murdering him right this minute. After all, if she was going to murder him to be free of the smug bastard, she was going to make sure that she couldn't be prosecuted for it.

When she looked halfway decent, despite the flush in her cheeks thanks to the fear, the anger and the exertion, Hermione stomped right back out of the bathroom just in time to barge face-first into Ginny Weasley.

"Hermione?" Ginny asked, steadying her and eyeing her warily when Hermione's knee-jerk reaction was to pull her wand on her assailant. "Are you alright? Harry said you ran out on the meeting because of girl problems and you've been gone an awfully long time. Is everything alright?"

Hermione bit her lip, her mind racing. She knew that keeping this secret from her friends much longer was a bad idea, but before she told them anything she wanted to confirm that Malfoy was her mate. She wanted proof. Which meant she was going to have to confront him.

"I'm fine, Ginny," Hermione said. "I just... well, there was a minor leak-through problem, but I think I got it all cleaned up."

"Oh, bugger. I hate it when that happens," Ginny said, always very open about her cycle and her bodily functions. "Did I tell you it happened during Quidditch training the other day? I bled through the pad, and my knickers and stained my sodding training gear. I had to write to Mum for a spell to remove the stains from the pants because the wretched things are light coloured. I petitioned Harry to put in with McGonagall for black training gear or at least red rather than cream and he stared at me like an idiot when I was blathering on about grass stains on the knees for a sport consisting of flying at high-speed."

Hermione nodded, smiling tightly. "Listen, Harry and Ron weren't too worried, right? Like, no one followed me out of the meeting before you came looking for me."

"Uh..." Ginny frowned. "Well, actually Malfoy left right after you did, but Zabini said something about the hex you'd put on the parchment that he signed before insulting you. Since we all figured you'd hexed it with that Diarrhoea Inducing curse, we figured he called you a mudblood and then had a sudden urge for the loo. Goyle shrugged it all off and said he figured Malfoy would be back shortly. He got back a few minutes ago, but when you were still missing and everyone was waiting for things to get started, Harry decided to begin the session with a revision of most of the stuff we covered in DA last year, a bit of a refresher for us and a starting point for some of the others. He sent me out to make sure you were alright, just in case."

Hermione smiled, alarmed to hear Malfoy  _had_  run out after her and that he'd beaten her back to the Room of Requirement. That didn't at all bode well for her.

"Right, well," Hermione cleared her throat. "Hopefully, in future, Malfoy might think twice before insulting my blood status."

"With luck," Ginny agreed. "But somehow, I doubt it. Is everything alright, though? You don't need me to run to the Common Room to get you a fresh pad or anything?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I had one in my bag, and you know I always keep a clean pair of knickers tucked away in the event of such an emergency. I don't even know how it happened. I must've forgotten to change it at lunch today, I guess."

"I forget all the time. It's why I stick with pads, even though tampons are better when you're active. Knowing my luck, I'd forget it was in there and land myself in the Hospital Wing with Toxic Shock."

"Again," Hermione nodded, knowing Ginny had done exactly that during her third year.

"Again," Ginny agreed. "I honestly hate when Aunt Flow visits. I swear that a nice Owl from Gaia letting me know I'm not pregnant - which, of course I'm not because I'm still a virgin - would be much preferable."

"Gods, wouldn't things be easier," Hermione laughed as they rounded the corner into the Room of Requirement. "I wouldn't even care if it was a monthly Howler. Anything would be preferable to this."

"Something you want to share with us Granger?" Zabini drawled as she entered the room talking about monthly Howlers.

"That depends, Zabini," Hermione deadpanned in return. "On a scale of one to ten, how immature are you about the female reproductive cycle?"

She'd kind of hoped he might turn up his pompous nose in disgust, but he didn't. Instead, he shot her a smirk. "Anytime you need a massage to alleviate cramps, Granger, you just let me know. I'll be more than happy to put my hands all over you."

"Slick git," Ginny accused, looking annoyed wile Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, that'll be the day. I'll just toddle on down to the Slytherin Common Room and let you feel me up, shall I?"

"Whatever suits, Granger," Zabini replied and Hermione got the distinct impression that Zabini not only knew that Malfoy was a werewolf, but also that Hermione was his mate. Malfoy was growling under his breath, his lip curled back from his teeth menacingly, and from Zabini's wicked smirk, he knew all too well that hitting on her was driving Malfoy's wolf mad with jealousy.

"Careful, Zabini," Hermione replied, taking up on the taunt. "I might just take you up on that offer if you can actually be mature about it all rather than recoiling like I've got the plague rather than my period."

Zabini started to laugh, throwing his head back and cackling when Goyle had to rest a heavy hand on Malfoy's shoulder to keep him from jumping his friend and ripping his throat out. If she needed any more proof, she had it. Malfoy was a werewolf and he was possessive of her.

"I feel ill," Ginny declared.

"You and me both, love," Hermione sighed, curling her lip at Malfoy when he glared at her as though it was her fault Zabini was hitting on her. "Let's jump in, shall we? Do you need a partner for the practice rounds?"

"I'm not that barmy," Ginny held up her hands. "I'll pair back up with Luna. I think Ron needs a partner though, so Harry can show some of the newbies how to do it."

"What are we starting with?"

"Basic Disarming spell," Ginny shrugged.

"Of course we are," Hermione muttered, strolling over to Harry and purposely interrupting him, laying her head on his shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked, peering at her curiously. "We were getting worried."

"I'm fine, Harry. But thanks for your concern. I'm told you're going to help the newbies while I duel Ron, since Ginny's too chicken to fight me."

"Chicken this, Hermione," Ginny said before blowing a raspberry at her.

Hermione disarmed the other girl, making her shout in surprise and protest.

"Maybe you should be working on your Shield Charms, Ginny," Hermione teased.

"You want to practice, or do you want to help people?" Harry asked, letting her lean against his back whilst lazily flicking disarming spells at Ron over and over again while Ron tried blocking them.

"You know they'll all take things better from your, especially the younger kids. You have a knack for showing them the easy way to do it, while I quibble over wrist placement."

"Yeah, but that's because you're a snobby perfectionist, Hermione," Ron called, laughing. Hermione shot a Tickling Jinx at him but he blocked it before returning fire.

"As expected, today's session is a bit boring for us DA veterans," Harry said to her, laughing when she didn't even lift her cheek from the middle of his back as she leaned into him, still hexing Ron and blocking his retaliation spells without needing to look because Ron was always so loud and never cast non-verbally.

"It will pick up, though. Most of us DA goers know what to do and how to help our peers. Look over there, Neville is showing that group of third years how to do the spell." Hermione pointed to Neville across the room. He looked to be in his element, teaching them how he'd learned to do it and insisting that practice would make perfect. "How have things been going with the Slytherins?"

"Nott scoffed over starting with Disarming Charms, but when I called him on them and insisted he try to disarm me while I blocked the spell, and he couldn't take my wand from me, he quieted down. He's got some decent power, don't get me wrong, but he needs more focus and more force to take the wand from a skilled opponent - especially one who knows it's coming. Listen, they didn't give you too much grief, did they? I know Malfoy insulted you, and your hex had him dashing off to the loo, but other than that, things are alright, aren't they?"

"They're fine, Harry," Hermione smiled, flicking a Tarantangella hex at Ron and hearing him give a shout sine he'd become distracted when she didn't return fire after his last hex. "Zabini offered to give me a massage to deal with my cramps, actually."

"You enjoy making me uncomfortable, don't you?" he asked, grinning over his shoulder at her.

"You blush so sweetly. And you have to get used to it. One day you'll fall for a pretty little witch, marry her and have to know all about how girls act when they're on their period. Might do you some good to know that offering a massage actually wins you several brownie points. He might be a pompous git and a Slytherin, but I'd probably be able to bring myself to be decent to Zabini for the rest of the night just because he didn't act like a child."

"Now you're lecturing me?" Harry smirked at her.

"Would you prefer I get cross and boss you around?" she asked, grinning in return.

"Gods, no," Harry laughed. "Alright, you watch Ron dance like a git and I'll take a walk around to make sure everyone is doing okay with the spell. If things look good, we'll set up impromptu duels to see how everybody does. Try and pair people off based on skill... though that might mean you have to duel Malfoy. I know that other than the two of us, he's probably the best in the year at Defence. He's probably learned a thing or two from his new master, too."

Hermione shot a glance in Malfoy's direction, surprised to see he was actually following the directions of the group, facing off against Theo Nott and firing curses at the other boy. Theo was smirking and Hermione got the feeling that the boys were throwing more than just harmless hexes at one another.

"They're going to be trouble," Hermione sighed, watching them and noting Malfoy's superhuman speed when he was focused like that. She didn't even need to ask, anymore. Now that she suspected - now that she'd been hunted by him - she  _knew_  he was a werewolf. She could see it in the rangy, wiry strength coiling along his powerful frame.

"They're always trouble. Malfoy's been practicing, too. He wasn't that good last year."

"Yes, I think there are a number of things different about Draco Malfoy this year," Hermione said dryly.

As though he'd heard them, Malfoy's grey eyes suddenly snapped over to fix on her and Hermione felt a twist of cruel satisfaction when his moment's distraction saw him hexed. She knew things were only proved even truer when Theo shot a hex at him and it collided before rebounding right off as though he'd used a Shield Charm. She knew he hadn't. She knew that he knew she knew it, too, when his eyes suddenly went wide and then narrowed suspiciously.

"Am I seeing things, or did that hex just bounce right off of him?" Harry muttered, leaning toward her a little more until his lips were right by her ear.

"You mean the way they bounced off Hagrid last year when the Aurors came to arrest him on Umbridge's orders?" Hermione said leadingly.

"Looked like it. No way did he get a shield up before that hit him, but it still bounced off."

Hermione nodded.

"Harry?" Hermione whispered, taking her eyes off of Malfoy when Theo flung another hex at him that he had to dive out of the way to dodge lest he seem even more suspicious. "I need to tell you something after the meeting, and you're really not going to like it."

Harry turned to meet her gaze worried. "Is it about Malfoy?" he asked in a low voice.

Hermione gave him a look. "It's about me," she whispered. "I… I've got a secret."

"Are you two going to just let me dance all night while you gossip?" Ron growled, having managed to dance his way closer, her hex still affecting him.

"Oh, right, sorry Ron," Hermione said, blushing pink and cancelling the spell. He fell to the floor in a heap, groaning. Hermione couldn't help thinking that she wouldn't mind joining him when he rolled over until he could press his face into a pillow, as though hiding from the world.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, frowning now. "What is it? Tell me now."

"I can't," Hermione smiled. "It will take too long to explain. Just... go show these kids how it's done and we'll talk after the meeting, I promise."

**~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~**

"Alright, does everyone understand the rules? To make sure that we all can perform the spell before moving on to something a little more complicated. I want everyone to form two lines. What do you think Hermione, boys vs girls?"

"Well, I mean, if you want to lose," Hermione teased, grinning while the girls all cheered.

"Well, now we're going to have to defend our honour, lads. Alright, girls line up at that end of the hall behind Hermione, blokes, in a line behind me and we'll pair off. Now, no shield charms this time. You can only use Expelliarmus, but it's a battle of speed and skill. If you both fire at the same time, whoever has the stronger magical strength, or the stronger will, is going to win. If your opponent is a split second faster, it could be life and death in a real duel, you understand? So don't hesitate. Hermione, you want to show them all how it's done?"

"It's like you  _want_  to be made a fool of, Harry," Hermione grinned at him. "But sure. A demonstration. May the best witch win."

Harry grinned at her.

"No hard feelings when I knock you on your arse, then?" Harry smirked.

"We'll see," Hermione replied, knowing she'd be mortified if she lost, but knowing that Harry was the better duellist. After all, he had duelled with Voldemort and made it out with his life. She doubted she would win, but it would just be more of an incentive to do better next time."

"You know she's never going to talk to you again if you beat her, right Harry?" Ron said, his voice echoing across the space as everyone got into position.

"I'll make it up to her," Harry grinned.

"No way, Potter," Nott said. "I saw her in class against Parkinson. As much as I loathe admitting it, Granger's the best in our year. She's going to knock you on your arse."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Nott," Hermione called, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

"Now, it's customary to bow in a formal duel, and while fighting against a slimy Death Eater, I don't recommend it, since you'll get hexed while you not looking, but in this instance, for training, we'll bow. Ready, Hermione?"

"As I'll ever be," Hermione said. "But fair warning, Harry Potter,  _if_  you beat me, I'm going to demand a back-rub later."

"Fine, but if I lose, you have to repay the favour."

Hermione nodded, accepting his terms and enjoying the way Malfoy's lip curled. She watched Harry bow forward, mimicking him and bowing formally. As soon as she straightened, she fired non-verbally, packing everything she had into the spell and leaping out of the way when his spell - a fraction of a second quicker, almost collided with her. If not for her animagus speed, she knew she'd have caught the spell Harry shouted loudly, showing everyone how it was done.

"Come on, now, love," Harry chastised, laughing when he dodged her spell too. "You can do better than that."

Hermione curled her lip, dancing out of the way of his next spell and returning fire, both of them trying to outdo the other. Harry was quick on his feet, she'd give him that. She was quicker, but only because of her animal reflexes. Without them, she knew she'd have already lost by now. They both kept firing, Harry increasing the speed of his hexes and Hermione pushing herself to make her own more powerful.

She cried out when one of Harry's spells caught her in the chest, her wand flying from her hand and her body flung backward. The only consolation was that she managed to catch Harry with the spell she'd fired just before his hit her and he grunted when it hit him. Hermione hit the ground hard, groaning and thinking they should've used Cushioning charms.

As she laid there trying to get her breath back, her sensitive canine hearing picked up on the sound of soft growling and Hermione tipped her head to look in the direction of the boys lined up behind Harry where he'd stumbled but retained his feet. Behind him, being restrained by Goyle, Malfoy was struggling and trying to break free of the bigger boy's grip. His eyes were fixed on her and even from across the room Hermione could make out the thread of canine gold amid his ordinarily grey eyes.

If she weren't already winded she was sure the breath would've rushed from her lungs at the confirmation. Draco Malfoy was a werewolf. Draco Malfoy apparently wasn't thrilled to see her beaten in the duel or potentially hurt. Draco Malfoy was possessive of her.

Draco Malfoy was her  _mate_. Hermione thought she might vomit.


	11. Chapter 11

Draco Malfoy was doomed. She knew. Granger  _knew_  he was a werewolf, and he'd bet every Galleon in his Gringott's vault that she knew about the Soulmate Principle, too. She'd given him the slip in the forest, using that clever brain of hers to evade him. But she knew. He could see it in the way she eyed him carefully from across the room, sprawled on the floor and looking winded after Potter's hex.

He hated the way he wanted to go to her. He hated the way his wolf wanted him to gather her into his hold and carry her out of there, like some barbaric Neanderthal carrying off his prize. He positively loathed the way he had the urge to rip Potter limb from limb – more than he usually did – for what the boy had done to his Mate, and he hated that despite his being a werewolf, Goyle was obviously stronger than him. Being restrained made him look bad, he knew, but he couldn't help it, and as much as he fought the hold, he really didn't want Goyle to let him loose. Draco could only imagine the type of pain he would endure at the hands of the Dark Lord if he ripped Potter's throat out with his teeth, right there in their silly little duelling hall.

Growling under his breath, Draco wriggled in Goyle's tight grip, frowning at the way Granger watched him warily, her face pale and her eyes wide. She knew. He could see it all over her face. She knew, and she was as horrified as he'd been when he realised his apple-cart was now permanently hitched to hers.

The worst part of the whole thing was that, had he not been infected with lycanthropy, he'd never have known. He might've passingly noted that she'd been improving in the looks department as they matured, and he might've begrudgingly admitted to himself that she was particularly gifted with a wand, but he'd never have let himself fancy her and he'd never have entertained the idea of pursuing anything with her. Had he not been bitten, he'd surely have gone on to marry someone his parents approved of, and she'd likely have ended up with Weasley.

There was no chance of that now. The notion made him fight Goyle's hold even harder, the urge to close the distance between himself and his mate, undeniable. He wanted her more than he wanted his next breath. His wolf wanted her. From the look on her face, though, he was going to have a hard time getting her. She looked like the last thing she wanted was to be anywhere near him, Mates or not. He'd heard her muttering to Potter before their duel that she had something to tell the git. He'd heard her leadingly drawing comparison between the way spells bounced off him as surely as they'd bounced off other half-breeds, like Hagrid.

She knew, and she planned to share her trouble with the messy haired, four-eyed, scar-bearing sod who'd been Draco's enemy since day one. Shaking his head and baring his teeth, Draco growled more ferociously, not at all wanting her to share his secret with anyone and definitely not wanting her in close quarters with Potter.

"So," Potter said, rolling his shoulders as he tried to throw off the effects of Granger's spell. "I guess we could call that a draw, Hermione?"

"If you say so," the girl nodded, getting shakily to her feet, similarly throwing off the effects of the duel as she stuck her wand between her teeth and began gathering up her messy curls to tie them into a sloppy bun.

His mother would surely have been horrified at such a sight, but Draco's attention was caught by the way the move and the duel had shifted her shirt and her jumper to an off-centre position, revealing a deep pink scar in the shape of his fangs right there at the top of her shoulder.

"Ah, fuck!" Goyle groaned softly, tightening his hold on Draco even more when the urge to claim her suddenly rushed through Draco with renewed urgency. He  _had_  to claim her. He'd already done half the job. Now he just needed to finish it.

"Let go!" he growled at Goyle, baring his fangs once more, his body thrumming with the need to lay claim to the little witch.

"You can't fuck her in front of all these people, you bastard!" Goyle replied gruffly, his stranglehold on Draco tightening until Draco began gasping for air.

"Oi!" Weasley's voice suddenly intruded. "Goyle, I'm all for you choking the life out of Malfoy, but do it on your own time, yeah? If you do it in here, no one else gets to duel anymore and I'll personally hex you hard enough that your grandchildren will drool…. You know, more than they already would've with your moronic genetics."

"Eat me, Weasley," Goyle grunted in reply, loosening his hold on Draco slightly when people began to stare at the two of them. Draco's cheeks cut pink, he could feel the heat of them as he blushed, but his eyes never left Granger.

"Why don't we let someone else have a go, Harry?" Granger said, her brow furrowing as she watched him, never taking her eyes off the way Draco struggled to get free of Goyle and claim her.

"Yeah, alright," Potter nodded. Draco felt the git's gaze on him, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling as his hackles rose. "Ron, why don't you and Lavender square off, eh?"

Weasley made a sound of startled protest while the blonde witch emitted a simpering little giggle, as though she were delighted to have been thought of in close relation to Weasley.

"No hard feelings when I knock you on your arse, Lavender?" Weasley taunted.

"If you bruise me, you'll have to kiss me better later," Brown replied, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously while Weasley blushed, suddenly thrown off balance as he eyed the blonde witch speculatively, apparently shocked by her suggestion.

"Hermione?" Potter said as the rest of the group watched Weasley and Brown bow to one another. "A word?"

"Erm…" Granger's gaze darted to Potter for a moment as she moved closer to where Draco stood. "I'm… not sure that would be the best idea right now, Harry. Um… never know who's listening… and all that."

"Right," Potter grunted, his gaze darting between Draco and Granger. Draco curled his lip, baring his teeth at the specky git.

"Actually, Harry, I'm not feeling so well," Granger said when she moved over to stand beside the dark haired boy. "I might, erm, head back to the Common Room. You finish things up here with everyone and I'll see you back there, yeah?"

Potter frowned at her.

"You owe me an explanation," Potter warned, his gaze still darting between her and Draco thanks to the way the silly witch kept watching him like he were a cauldron about to explode.

"Right. Yeah. And I'll give you one, I promise. I… you're not going to like it, Harry. Fair warning. But… there  _is_  an explanation."

"Am I likely to break something when you tell me?" Potter wanted to know, his brow furrowing further.

"Yes," Granger squeaked. "And I really hope it's not me. I'm going to go, alright?"

"Are you sure you don't need me to walk you back?" Potter asked, lowering his voice, obviously unaware of Draco's lycanthrope hearing.

Draco growled, noting the way Goyle had begun loosening his hold by increments. He needed to claim her, confound it all! And he'd have preferred to keep his secret to himself, which wouldn't work out too well for him if he ran her down a second time this evening. But Merlin's little green apples, he didn't think he could watch her walk away a second time, not without chasing her again.

He got the feeling, when she darted another look in his direction, that she knew he was going to follow her. Unable to stand it, and not wanting to draw any more attention to himself or his plight than necessary, Draco dug deep for every skerrick of self-control he had. Shaking Goyle's grip off his shoulders, Draco turned on his heel and left the room without another word, knowing that Potter and Granger were both watching him. Everyone else was, fortunately, focused on the fact that Weasley and Brown had begun flicking hexes at each other, so he doubted many of them would've seen him leaving.

But Granger had. And now she had no choice but to walk right past him on her way out. He wondered if she would still dare to leave, unescorted. He wondered how much trouble he'd be in with the teachers, and with the Dark Lord, if he savaged Potter to get him out of the way. He wondered what in Salazar's name he was supposed to say to the witch to at least  _try_  and explain their plight. He wondered if he had the strength and the willpower to actually discuss the problem with her, rather than just shoving her against the nearest wall and fucking her until he howled with triumph as he claimed her.

Pacing the full length of the hallway, Draco tried to get a hold of the ravaging wolf riling for release inside of him. He didn't want to savage the witch, if he could help it. For all their hostility, and for all this inconvenience, he didn't  _want_  to hurt her, or to force himself on her. She was his mate, after all. He was supposed to protect her, not punish her. Even if she  _had_  run from him earlier.

Part of him knew that he was moving too fast and that he was probably giving off the distinct impression of being a predator, impatiently awaiting his prey. His ear cocked in the direction of the door when the handle turned, and Draco looked over from the far end of the hall when Granger slipped into the corridor, her wand drawn. Clearly, she was expecting him to be waiting for her. Draco almost sighed at the very idea, shaking his head to himself and gritting his teeth on the urge to rush her and just take what his wolf so desperately wanted.

He tamped down the urge, meeting her gaze from the end of the corridor. She narrowed her eyes slightly, obviously noting the fact that he was blocking the way back to Gryffindor Tower, though it wasn't actually intentional.

"Malfoy," she said tightly, obviously expecting an attack. Not that she was wrong to do so, given that he'd chased her through the castle and into the forest earlier that very evening.

"Granger," he said in reply, his voice just as tight with the tension of resisting his wolf's wants.

She darted a glance past him, perhaps gauging her chances of squeezing by him before he could catch her.

"Well?" she asked finally, clearly realising she had no hope of outrunning or out-smarting him, this time.

Draco loathed the expectancy in her tone, suggesting that she was just waiting for him to pounce.

"So, you know, then?" he said, his eyes tracing over her tense face.

"Hard not to," she admitted tightly. "What do you plan about it?"

Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"Not a lot we  _can_  do about it," he grunted. "And believe me, I've looked up and down the castle library and the library at the Manor trying to find a way out of this mess even before  _you_  were mixed into."

She nodded tightly. "So have I," she admitted. "This… isn't going to end well, is it?"

Draco shook his head slowly, knowing better than to try sugar coating this.

"Any ideas on how to navigate this mess?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

She sighed, lowering her wand ever so slightly and looking like she didn't have the answer for perhaps the first time in history. It was clear she wasn't happy about it, too.

"I don't suppose that continuing as we have, with Goyle preventing you from attacking me, could work?" she asked, though she didn't sound very hopeful.

Draco shook his head again. "No, not anymore," he said quietly. "He's strong. Stronger than I imagined. But the wolf will  _not_  continue to tolerate his intervention. If he continues to prevent me from claiming you, my wolf will do whatever it takes to eliminate him."

She gulped, obviously surprised to hear that.

"But he's your best mate," she frowned.

" _Don't_ use the word 'mate' in front of me, Granger," Draco growled very softly, his hands balling to fists and his claws digging into his palms with the effort it took to remain at the other end of the corridor.

"Right," she frowned, lifting her foot like she might take a step back from him, before she froze when his eyes narrowed on the movement, thinking better of it. Draco realised she was clever enough to know that even as single step back, just the faintest hint of relinquishing ground and showing weakness would bring all this undone.

"Well," she said when he took a small, measured step in her direction. "Erm…. If continued third-party restraint is no longer viable, and your own self-control is waning, then I supposed we're out of luck."

"Seems so," Draco agreed.

"I'm not shagging you," she warned him.

"You will," he disagreed cockily. "The only thing up for debate is whether you will do so willingly, or if I will eventually be overcome and will  _take_  what my wolf wants by force."

"You're saying you'd rape me?" she asked, horrified.

"I'm saying that I may not have any more say in it than you, if we take too bloody long," Draco snapped. "I'm no happier about this than you, Granger. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was to have my broom hitched to yours, but there's nothing for it. If we continue to share classes and share this castle, eventually my wolf will break free of his chains, and I'll claim you as a human, just as I did as a wolf."

"I don't suppose there's a chance that you could… you know… mark me, without having to worry about the whole… shagging thing?" she asked, frowning.

Draco frowned too.

"I think you know that's not how it works, Granger," he said quietly. "And even if it did, the bite would prevent you and I from ever seeking pleasure with anyone else. You'd end up shagging me eventually, just the same."

She looked like she wanted to be sick.

"Well," she frowned. "Then, I suppose there's only two options."

"Oh?" Draco asked, sliding his feet closer, itching with the urge to pounce and just get this tension over with.

"I can either agree to this mess, shag you, and then just go about things as though we're not fated," she said, and Draco's insides quivered with the urge to insist that she pick that option. "Or… I can kill you."

Draco blinked in complete shock, jolted out of his lustful thoughts at the almost casual way she suggested such a thing.

"Could you?" he asked, frowning at her. "You're not exactly cruel, Granger. I don't think you'd have the stomach to do what needs to be done to properly kill a werewolf."

She tipped her to one side like a curious mutt, her eyes tracing over him, and Draco frowned at the way her gaze lingered on the weak points of his body – his throat, and his groin – as though imagining slicing open the pale flesh with a cursed silver dagger.

"I don't know," she mused. "I think that given the state of things, and the fact that it's kill you, or tie my body and my soul to yours for all of eternity, it might not be as difficult as you might think to save myself from such a fate."

"Am I so wretched to you?" Draco asked in a low voice, unfamiliar with the strange ache he suddenly felt, like a sudden bout of emptiness and sickness weighing him down and making him ill.

"You're the embodiment of my life-sentence, Malfoy," she said just as quietly. "You're the prejudiced, bigoted, arrogant wretch who has relentlessly tormented me and my friends since our introduction. You are cold, and cruel, and you hold ideals and values that demean and victimise people like me. What possible appeal could there be to my allowing myself to be irrevocably tied to you?"

"You would be able to live with yourself afterward, if you killed me?" he asked, raising his eyebrows at her, his wolf sitting up and snarling at the thought that she would rather murder him than be mated to him.

"I don't know," she admitted, frowning. "Are you going to make me find out?"

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"You can't evade me forever," he said. "What will you do? Where are you going to get the cursed silver dagger you'd need to drive into my heart, Granger?"

"What makes you think I don't already have one?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in challenge. "After all, I've known since that night in forest two moons ago that I was fated to a werewolf. I didn't have confirmation of your human identity until tonight, but I've certainly had a good long while to prepare for the fact that my mate might be someone I'd rather not associate with."

Draco growled.

"Don't make me prove it, Malfoy," she warned, foolishly taking a step back when he stalked forward. "I mean it. I've been carrying a silver dagger for weeks."

"You're not even going to consider the other alternative?" he asked. "We  _could_  just get the bloody bond out of the way and then go on as though this was all just some drunken mistake."

"I doubt there's enough liquor in the world to allow me to make a mistake like you, Malfoy," she sneered, but Draco didn't take offence. He doubted there was enough booze to get him to fuck her. Indeed, were it not for the lycanthropy, he wouldn't have ever even thought of touching her. But he  _was_  a werewolf, and he  _had_  been waking with sticky sheets at the vivid dreams he had of touching every inch of the little witch.

"Care to find out?" he drawled in challenge.

"I'm not going anywhere with you that might involve alcohol, Malfoy."

"Who said anything about alcohol," he smirked. "I certainly won't need it to take what I want, should I choose."

She narrowed her eyes on him when his lips curled into a positively wolfish smile, taking several steps back from him. She jerked a dagger from the pocket of her robes and Draco narrowed his eyes when he spied the gleam of it's silver blade. Apparently, she hadn't been jesting about being prepared for this moment.

"Don't make me hurt you, Granger," Draco said quietly. "Despite your doubts, I don't actually  _want_  to hurt you."

"I'm not tying myself to you, Malfoy," she shook her head, still backing up.

"You're already tied to me," Draco told her, shaking his head. "Can't you see that? You've got the scar of my bite right there under your robes. You're my mate, and fighting this will only end in bloodshed and screams."

"Yes," she agreed. "Yours."

She spun on her heels and ran from him once more. Draco narrowed his eyes on her, knowing that he could catch her. He was even willing to give her a head start. He let her get all the way to the far end of the corridor before he sprung after her, intent on claiming what was his.


	12. Chapter 12

Hermione ran for her life for the second time that evening, a dagger clutched in one hand, and her wand clenched in the other. She could hear the almost lazy sound of Malfoy's feet as he jogged after her and she narrowed her eyes on his audacity to think that she really wouldn't be able to outrun him. She already had done once this evening, and she supposed she could do it again, even if she did have less of a head start than last time.

Then again, it would do no good to transform again, and she couldn't outrun a werewolf on foot as a human. The only option would be to turn and face him head on. Hermione wondered if she dared. For all her bravado, she wasn't at all sure she had the guts to kill him just to save herself, even if he was a wretch and even if she  _did_  suspect that he was a branded Death Eater. He might be prejudiced and a right bloody bastard, but he was still a human being – well, as much of one as he could be given the lycanthropy – and she doubted he would make it so easy as to let her wound him in the heat of battle.

She got the feeling that if she really was going to murder him, he would make her do it slowly, drawing it out and just daring her to prove that she had the nerve. There would be no accidental stabbing or slashing, she suspected. He would make her slowly, almost torturously, drive the blade of her cursed silver dagger into his chest, and if by some miracle she managed to miss all of his ribs, she would still have to have the physical strength to penetrate his heart. Worse, she'd need the mental strength, and Hermione suspected they both knew she didn't have it.

She wouldn't be able to kill him in cold blood, whilst staring into his eyes. She knew it. He knew it. And he was just toying with her now. Hermione wondered if this would all end with her shoved up against some cold stone wall of the castle, her knickers in tatters at her feet while he speared himself deep inside her and buried his fangs in her flesh, marking her as his witch and claiming her as his mate for the rest of time.

She certainly didn't fancy the notion, but it was that or dig into some dark corner of her soul and murder him. Which, undoubtedly, she would be caught for. Hermione wondered what would be worse; spending the rest of her life locked in Azkaban prison, or spending her life tied irrevocably to Draco bloody Malfoy. After all, he was well-known within the school and his family had more money than anyone she knew. She would rot in a prison if he were to turn up dead, she was sure.

Hermione ran harder, knowing that if she could get somewhere public, she'd be safe for a little while longer. Maybe she could even make it to the common room before he caught her. Pushing herself, Hermione glanced over her shoulder to see that he was still jogging at a steady pace, loping along and not at all looking to be in any rush to catch her just yet. He hadn't fallen behind in the slightest, but he hadn't closed the distance between the two of them, either. She could tell he was just waiting for her to tire. He probably had the stamina to chase her from one end of the castle to the other without breaking a sweat.

She didn't know if she should be terrified or relieved that he seemed intent on drawing this out. It was clear to her that the human part of him didn't want to mark her anymore than she wanted him to do it, but the wolf in him was insistent. He chased her because he had to, and no matter how violently she recoiled from the idea of considering the other option – the one where she shagged him and got this over with before they both pretended none of this had happened – Hermione knew that Malfoy had resigned himself to their fate.

Running harder, Hermione raced around the corner, intent on reaching the common room before he could catch her. It would only be a temporary fix, and she was tempting fate, but she couldn't do it. She couldn't give herself to him. Not like this. Not to  _him_. The idea had been taunting her since she'd first begun to wonder if he'd been the wolf from the woods.

As she ran, her mind raced, recalling the wolf he'd become beneath the glow of the full moon, and Hermione frowned as she realised that though she disliked the boy she knew him to be, she'd had no problem with him when he'd been the wolf. He'd been playful and inquisitive and friendly, and downright adorable at times. Hermione darted around another corner without looking over her shoulder, her mind presenting the many facts Remus had shared about lycanthropy, the most intriguing of which was that while the werewolf was another entity to that of the man, both coexisting within one body or the other, depending on the time of the month, there were many similarities that could be found between man and beast when it came to personality. Suggesting that, just as he had been whilst in wolf form, Draco Malfoy might actually be playful and inquisitive and friendly, under the right circumstances.

The idea boggled her mind and Hermione was almost to the common room before someone stepped out of the end of a secret passage that led up from the floor below. She collided heavily with a solid, male form and Hermione squealed in surprise.

"Easy, Granger," Malfoy's low drawl met her ear, hands closing like vices over her upper arms as he steered her strongly into the passage he'd stepped out of before kicking the portrait that covered it closed once more.

Hermione fought. She couldn't keep from doing so, and she couldn't bear the thought that she was now alone with him in a secluded and little used passageway. She was doomed, she realised, struggling with all her might and barely ruffling him. His grip never lessened, and she might as well have been flailing against a stone wall for all the effect she had on moving him or breaking free. She was trapped and she was scared and Hermione knew he could hear her heart pounding, both from the run, and from the fear coursing through her body like a terrible poison. It churned in her gut and it deadened her limbs. When blindly fighting didn't win her freedom, Hermione turned to more vicious means and she uttered a hex that burst from the end of her wand and right at his chest.

The smell of burning fabric filled the air between them and Hermione groaned when the spell bounced right off the werewolf and struck her, instead.

"That was unwise," he said quietly, and Hermione loathed that rather than seeming offended, or angry, or even upset, he simply sounded resigned. His voice was heavy with stoicism, his tone almost weary. He wasn't breathing hard like she was, obviously not at all even out of breath after the run, though to have entered the corridor, he'd have had to race down to the floors below to enter the passage before dashing back up the stairs in time to capture her before she made it to the common room.

Hermione gritted her teeth, dropping her wand for the useless tool it was against him. It clattered against the stairs around their feet, but Hermione didn't bother looking for it, she was too busy focusing on the dagger the clutched in a now shaking hand. She aimed the point at him, pressing the tip against his chest, warning him away.

"Do it," Malfoy said, still sounding utterly resigned. "Come on, Granger. Do it. You're stuck with forever if you don't. Go on, drive that through my heart. End this miserable existence."

Hermione hands shook, and she had to use both hands to hold the hilt of the knife, pushing it against his chest, trying to penetrate the fabric of his robes. Her lip trembled with fear, and when she looked up into his face, illuminated by the light of the corridor that had flared to life with their presence and their struggle, she could see that his face was without expression. His eyes didn't dare her to do it for the sake of proving her hatred. They didn't encourage her, and they didn't warn her away.

He was leaving it in her hands and Hermione realised that he'd known, probably since the beginning of term, that she was his mate. He knew that she was it for him, and that if she truly didn't want him, he was doomed to suffer and to eventually slip into insanity. He'd made his choice. He wanted her because he wanted to live, even if it meant living as a werewolf and living with her for his… girlfriend? His mate? His forever? But he wasn't going to force it on her. She could see that. Clearly, he knew that taking her by force would only result in his untimely death.

And so he planned to leave it up to her. If she wanted to kill him more than she wanted to shag him, he was going to stand there and let her. He might have a tight grip on her shoulders, but Hermione could tell as she met his grey eyes that he wasn't going to force himself on her. He wasn't going to  _make_  her accept him and the bond that fate had thrust upon them. He held his gaze unflinchingly, leaning slowly toward her, leaning into the blade. When he penetrated the fabric of his robes and began cutting into his skin, he didn't look away. Hermione's lower lip trembled and tears prickled inside her eyes.

She wanted to fight. She wanted to shove him away and tell him there would never be anything between them, fate or not. She wanted him to fight back. She wanted him to try and take her knife, or at least to do  _something_  other than passively letting her stab him. As the blade penetrated his flesh blood seeped from the wound and his eyes flashed with the gold of the wolf, his hands tightening on her upper arms. Hermione thought he might finally try to fight her off, but he gritted his teeth and blinked the wolf from his eyes in an impressive display of self control.

"Do it," he urged once more, his voice low and hoarse now, almost as though he were desperate for an end to his own existence and Hermione wondered how much of it was bravado intended to test her resolve, and how much of it was his own self-loathing. "Do it, Granger, or you're mine for life."

The threat pushed her to do it, and though a ragged and horrified sob tore from her throat, Hermione shoved the blade forward, feeling it slide between his flesh and penetrate his lungs. It drove into his chest and Hermione was trembling and crying by the time the hilt hit his ribs and the blade could go no deeper.

Draco's breath came in pain rasps, but he never loosened his hold and he didn't try to pull away. She wondered how badly it hurt. She wondered if he would die. She wondered if the transformations he endured every month were worse. She wondered if he really wanted to die. Her heart beat unevenly inside her chest and almost as soon as she's stabbed the knife into him, she wanted to pull it out; to take it back.

When Draco spoke again, his voice was pained, but strangely hopeful as he murmured, "You missed."


	13. Chapter 13

"Wh-what?" Hermione stammered, her brow furrowing as she looked into his face.

Draco felt his lips twitch toward a smile despite the wretch burn of the silver so close to his heart, stabbed into his chest and buried to the hilt.

"You missed my heart," he told her quietly, his nose twitching as he breathed in her sweet scent. He could hear her erratic heartbeat as it danced in her chest, soothing him with its closeness, no matter the uneven tempo.

"I…" she frowned as though she were confused before jerking the sharp dagger from his chest. The blade was stained red with his blood, but he barely noticed because right at that moment, she dropped the knife.

Just as her wand had done, the dagger clattered to the stone floor of the stairs about their feet, leaving her defenceless in his clutches. His wolf was howling in fury that his mate had dared to stab him and almost kill him, but the man in him could recognise why she'd done it. He was strangely pleased that she'd missed, though.

"But I…" she tried again, tears streaming down her face though she seemed unaware of them.

Overcome with emotion, she surprised him when she drew in a ragged breath and began to sob as she lifted trembling hands to press them against the wound she'd inflicted upon him. She didn't even flinch at the horror of getting his blood on her hands as she pressed them to the front of his rapidly darkening shirt where the blood began to stain it crimson. She pushed at his chest as though her will alone might heal the terrible stab-wound she'd inflicted upon him and Draco felt a surge of an emotion he couldn't even begin to name as he shook his head at the conflicted little witch that Fate had dictated was his for life.

When the blood didn't slow, she began to cry softly, though Draco could feel his body trying to knit itself back together already. Granger laid her forehead against the middle of his chest and Draco blinked, his wolf slowly ceasing the growling to finally have his mate so close and so ready to submit. Loosening his tight hold on the witch, Draco let his fingers trail around her back until he had his arms curled around her protectively, holding her while she cried.

He couldn't have explained it, had any of his friends walked in right at that moment. The bitch had  _stabbed_  him. He should be furious with her. He should be plotting ways to make her pay for daring to harm him – for preferring the idea of seeing him dead than having to suffer through being tied to him for the rest of their lives. After the way he'd been behaving up until now every time he was anywhere near her, he ought to be shoving her against the wall and hard fucking her until he couldn't walk, but there was something so sweet in her surrender that he simply held her and savoured it.

She clenched fistfuls of his shirt as she cried into his chest and Draco smoothed his hands up and down her back, marvelling at the warmth and the softness of her petite form. She trembled as she cried, and he knew she was at her weakest. She probably couldn't believe she'd actually stabbed him, and from the way she currently smelled, he was thinking she'd probably never been so relieved to be able to take something back and admit her mistake. Draco couldn't really believe she'd done it. He'd known that she was brave, and he'd known that she hated him, but the little bitch had  _stabbed_ him. She'd looked him in the eye and dug a knife into his flesh  _intending_  to kill him.

She'd failed to do so, and clearly wanted to take it back, but she'd tried, and he couldn't believe the little bitch had the guts. He couldn't believe she was so heartless. She could've killed him! Merlin's little green apples, she'd been  _trying_  to kill him. An inch or so to the left and she'd have succeeded and pierced his heart. As a werewolf, he could heal from a stab wound, even when it had been caused by a silver blade, but silver directly to the heart would kill him.

Before he could offer an opinion on the matter as she cried into his chest, probably getting blood all over herself, too, a sound caught his ear and Draco turned his head. A growl worked its way up his throat when he laid eyes of someone standing inside the passage with them. There, at the top of the stairs having just pried open the portrait guarding the entrance to the secret passage was a messy haired, wide-eyed, gaping git.

Potter.

"Hermione?" he asked, sounding horrified at the sight of his best friend in the arms of his enemy.

Draco snarled ferociously, and Granger squeaked in his arms, lifting her head and turning to stare at Potter in horror.

"Harry?" she asked, her voice thick with the tears she'd shed. "Oh, no. Harry, you need to go."

"What are you doing in here with Malfoy?" Potter asked, too thick or too bloody nosey to run for his life as though it wouldn't soon be snuffed out between Draco's fangs.

"Harry, please," she whispered, and Draco felt her loop her arms around his waist, attempting to anchor him to her, preventing him from springing at Potter and opening his throat like his wolf so desperately wanted to do. "Please leave. I promise I'll explain everything soon, but you are in danger here?"

"From what? Malfoy?" Harry scoffed, and Draco took a menacing step toward the git, his nails lengthening and darkening to the claws of the wolf. He could feel his teeth sharpening inside his mouth and his vision shifted to that of the wolf.

Potter recoiled, his eyes widening behind his glasses.

"You're a…." he began, his voice laced with utter shock. Draco wasn't surprised. The git had suspected all year that he'd become a Death Eater. It hadn't crossed his mind for a single moment that maybe his erratic behaviour were the result of lycanthropy.

"Harry, leave," Granger whispered, clinging to Draco now.

"You  _knew_  he was a werewolf?" Potter asked, and Draco began to realise why it was that the sod usually ended up in such hot water facing off against dangerous magical creatures. It was like he had no sense of self-preservation.

"Not until today. Not for certain."

Draco snarled at Potter, taking another step in his direction, dragging Granger with him. The witch clung to his chest, her arms wrapped tightly around his lithe frame and her heart racing in her chest. He could feel it hammering against her ribs and he knew she was scared for her friend.

"What's that got to do with you?" Potter asked. "Why are you hugging him?"

"She's not hugging me, Potter," Draco warned coldly. "She's trying to restrain me so I don't rip your throat out."

Potter took a step back in shock. "It's not a full moon," he frowned. "Is that… blood?"

He eyed the two of them critically, spying the blood staining both of them.

"Harry, you  _really_  need to leave," Hermione warned. "I just stabbed him and he's unstable."

"You  _stabbed_  him?" Potter asked. "Blimey, Hermione!"

Draco snarled, lunging at Potter and dragging the witch with him.

"Don't, Malfoy," she begged. "Please don't hurt him."

Draco snarled.

"He hurt you," he said.

"He didn't," Hermine shook her head. "I'm fine. The duel was just a bit of fun. Harry, for the love of Merlin, get out! Before he kills you."

"He's not going to kill me," Potter said. "You stabbed him. If anyone's in danger, it's you."

Draco snarled even more ferociously, his wolf furious at the suggestion that he might actually, intentionally hurt his mate, even if she  _had_  stabbed him.

"Believe me, Harry, I'm the only person safe in his company," Hermione said. "I'm… I'm his mate, Harry."

Potter's eyes widened.

"I really hope you mean 'mate' the way I'd call Ron or Neville a mate, Hermione," Potter said, eyeing her like she'd gone mad.

"No," the witch shook her head. "I mean wolf-mate. Soulmate. Whatever you want to call it. Gods, you need to leave, Harry. I can't hold him for much longer, and I can only think of one other way to distract him from slashing you to ribbons."

Potter made a face.

Draco froze when the little witch gripped him even tighter and rolled her hips against the part of him that had been so eager to make her acquaintance.

"Hermione, no!" Potter said when he realised what she meant.

"Hermione, yes!" Draco drawled quietly in retort and Granger's cheeks bloomed crimson.

"Harry, leave," she demanded quietly, her eyes darting to her friend before she looked up and met Draco's gaze, apparently unnerved by his use of her first name and uncertain if she wanted to have to distract him in such a way.

Draco couldn't resist lunging at Potter again, just to push the issue. Potter opened his mouth, stepping back again.

"Blimey, Hermione," he muttered. "You weren't kidding that I'd be upset about it."

"Go be upset about it in the common room," Granger commanded and Draco hands on the witch tightened when she turned her face from her friend, burying her lips against his neck and making his whole body thrum with desire when she nipped him just hard enough to smart.

Draco barely heard the sound of Potter's footsteps as he departed over the triumphant howl ringing inside his head when his mate rolled her hips suggestively again. His hands tightened reflexively upon her, his fangs and claws receding as the threat disappeared, his fury replaced with raging desire so intense, it took his breath away. When she tipped her head up to meet his gaze, he could see the resignation and the resolve in her eyes and he knew that if he ever wanted to claim her as his mate without having to force the issue, now was his chance.

He watched her lick her lips nervously, her breath coming in shallow pants, whether from fear, nerves, or desire, Draco couldn't quite tell. He mimicked her, licking his own lips as he slowly leaned toward her, his eyes darting between both of hers, looking for some sign that she was going to continue to fight, or that it was a trap to distract him to save her friend. He looked for some sign that she was going to back out, but for all her hesitation and her obvious unhappiness, he saw no malicious intent.

She was really going to let him claim her. Draco knew it was for the best. One quick shag, a bite, and then they could go on with things as though they weren't bonded for life. He was sure that he'd have a better handle on this mess just as soon as he didn't have to fight his own instincts to claim her every other second. Lowering his lips until they were a hairsbreadth from hers, Draco searched her face, wondering if she was going to chicken out, or even try to stab him again.

She didn't. She simply tipped her head up and waited. Just before he could close the distance between them and claim the kiss he so desperately wanted, she whispered;

"Be gentle… I've never done this before."


	14. Chapter 14

Draco's eyebrows rose as the softly spoken admission and his mouth pulled down into a frown. His wolf was positively howling for the chance to claim her when she'd surrendered so sweetly, but he couldn't do it here in the corridor. Not if she was a virgin. Not when anyone might happen upon them at any given moment. He didn't want to hurt her, confound it all, and the monster inside his soul was baring his teeth and growling at the very thought of anyone else laying eyes on her while he took her.

His intention of claiming her lips for a hot kiss was thwarted by her modest words and he almost wanted to growl at her in frustration. He was pleased that no one else had laid a hand on his witch, but he really didn't want to have to fight with his instincts as he took her, warring between the need to completely dominate her to ensure she knew just who and what her mate was, and the need to keep from hurting her.

"You're a virgin?" he asked hoarsely.

She blinked at him, leaning back a little, her cheeks cutting crimson, though with embarrassment or annoyance, he couldn't be sure.

"That surprises you?" she asked in retort, obviously not pleased by the question.

Draco knew that answering such a question would be dangerous. If he said that he'd never doubted she was virginal, she might take it to mean she was far too unattractive to have lured anyone into bed with her. But if he said that he was shocked, she might think that he thought her a tart and Draco didn't much fancy facing off against her in either scenario.

"We need to get out of the corridor," Draco said, frowning and forcing himself to remove his hands from her person, lest he succumb to his wolf's desire. "We can't do this here. Not if it's your first time."

"You're actually going to bother about ensuring my first time isn't something hurried and awkward in a corridor?" she asked, seeming surprised and Draco growled at her.

"Being a werewolf doesn't undo the years of etiquette drummed into me about being a proper gentleman, Granger," he argued quietly. "I'm not about to shag you for the first time in a dingy secret passage with your wand and the dagger you used to  _stab_  me littering the floor. I'm not going to be much use shagging with a bleeding hole stabbed in my lung, anyway, so you're probably going to have to heal me before things can proceed."

She frowned, blinking and nodding, her eyes darting to the bloodstain on his shirt before she looked at the front of her own robes and realised she was covered in his blood, too. Not that she seemed overly concerned by the fact that he could very well be bleeding to death under his clothes. She looked far too nervous and more than a little resigned, but she didn't exactly look repentant or worried for him in the slightest. He didn't know if he should be relieved that despite being fated for one another, they weren't being forced to feel anything for the other that wasn't entirely organic, or if he should be growling and shoving her against something and calling her a cruelhearted bitch for stabbing him and caring little that he might very well be in agony.

"You know if we don't… you know, get this out of the way… I'm probably going to… um… chicken out," she said.

"You don't get to chicken out," Draco growled in a low voice, his eyes flashing a warning in the dimly lit corridor. "Its this or risking it when I lose control and shove you into something in front of people. And if that happens, I won't have the rationality or the finesse to keep from hurting you for your first time. Since we have to do this, let's just bloody well do it right, yeah? We'll get it over with, and then we can go back to hating each other's guts from opposite sides of the classroom. Just, slap on some of that courage you sodding Gryffindors are so infamous for, and it'll be out of the way before you know it. Alright?"

She frowned at him for a long moment, clearly not all that pleased about the notion of losing her virginity being described not as some romantic offering, but something ugly and dirty and obligated that they needed to get over and done with before life could go on. He watched her nibble her lower lip, clearly biting her tongue on the urge to tell him to go suck a lemon and forget this nonsense before nodding her head.

"Good," Draco said. "Then collect your belongings and follow me."

She looked briefly baffled by what he could mean, before she stooped down to scoop up her knife and her wand, tucking them back into their hiding places upon her person. Unable to keep his hands entirely to himself, and despite the amount of blood staining their skin, Draco found himself reaching for her hand, interlocking their fingers and leading her back down the corridor. He wracked his brain, trying to think of the best place to take her. He could hardly take her to his bed in the Slytherin dormitories, though all of his friends undoubtedly knew about his condition and his predicament as a result, by now. He'd chased her -  _hunted_  her – twice this evening, bailing on the farce of a training lesson to dog her steps through the castle and pursue her through the forest before cornering her like the wretched predator he was. If they didn't know, they were bloody thick, so he assumed that his immediate dorm-mates would know what was going on and likely wouldn't dare to interrupt him.  _They_ might all know about his being a sodding werewolf and being bloody  _mated_  to Hermione sodding Granger, but none of the other Slytherin students did, and he didn't fancy having to explain just why he was dragging Granger into his bed - covered in blood, no less - to the likes of Pansy Parkinson, or the other snobby, pompous, prejudiced little fucks he shared a House with.

He briefly considered the Room of Requirement, knowing they both knew of its existence, and knowing that in short order she would have proof that he was a Death Eater when she spotted his tattoo the minute he was naked. But that wouldn't do, either. Too many people might spot them leaving together, and too many people could access it. The last thing he wanted was to have someone walking in on the two of them when he claimed her. He expected it would be primal and animalistic and violent. And if anyone saw, his secret would be out, and he'd been run out of the school and driven off like the filthy half-breed he was.

The irony was not lost of him that not so very long ago, he'd been one of the ones leading the charge and spreading the vicious truth about Lupin that had driven the wolf to resign despite his being the best bloody Defence teacher they'd had.

"I don't suppose there's any way we'd get by your friends and the rest of your dorm-mates to do this in your bed?" he asked, slanting a glance at her.

She scoffed at the very idea.

"You literally just threatened to kill Harry," she reminded him. "If you think he'd just stand by while I led you up to my bed, you're barmy. He's probably sitting in the common room seething at this very moment and plotting your imminent doom."

Draco growled under his breath.

"Well, I can hardly take you to  _my_  bed, Granger," he said, frowning fiercely.

"Worried your little blood prejudiced minions will think ill of you?" she sneered.

"Worried they'll ask too many questions about why I'd be shagging you in the first place, which might lead them to exposing me as a werewolf and would probably see me thrown out of the school," Draco replied. "And you along with me when they learn you're my mate. The ignorant fucking fools."

"I hardly think Dumbledore would throw you out for a werewolf when he's let you stay this long as a Death Eater," she sneered.

Draco growled at her.

"There's the Room of Requirement," he suggested, despite his thoughts that it might be a bad idea and despite the urge he had to bite her viciously for sassing him.

"Where anyone could walk in?" she raised her eyebrows. "I thought you wanted to keep this mess a secret?"

"As opposed to anywhere else in the castle?" he challenged. "There's really not that many options to get this done without being spotted or getting caught, you know?"

She frowned for a long moment as they walked.

"I know a place," she said. "No one will find us in there."

Draco regarded her for a moment in silence before shrugging his shoulders. "Then lead the way, Granger."

"Are you going to be able to do this when you're bleeding like that?" she asked, peeking out the entrance to the secret passage when they reached the lower corridor.

"Oh,  _now_  you care that I'm bleeding to death and struggling to breathe thanks to the hole you stabbed in my lung?" he scoffed.

"Do you  _have_  to be a git, Malfoy?" she asked, looking annoyed and still not sounding at all repentant. Merlin's bloody boots, he was fated to a psychopath! "I already don't want to do this. Don't make it worse by being your usually, soddish self, yeah?"

"Eat me, Granger," he growled at her.

"I don't like the taste of ferret, thank you," she replied.

Draco narrowed his eyes before baring his fangs at her, letting her see just how much a wolf he really was. She recoiled ever so slightly, but she didn't let go of his hand, hurrying down the corridor and taking a sharp turn toward a little used part of the castle beyond the library that he'd never visited before.

"What is this place?" he asked, noting the fact that none of the torches lit up as they traversed the corridors, and the fact that the layers of dust coating the windowsills and the floor was thick and undisturbed.

"They Magical Theorem classrooms," she answered. "But when Headmaster Dippett took over, the subject was phased out as being too 'boring'. Most of the students don't actually know this part of the castle exists. There are charms to prevent us from seeing these corridors to avert wandering, but because we're both prefects, we can get in. During third year, when I was taking so many subjects, I was given special permission to use these rooms when I needed to let all of my turns with the Time Turner catch up. There's an old teaching quarters down here that I was allowed to use when I needed to catch up on sleep where I couldn't accidentally stumble upon myself or be caught for being in two places at once."

Draco eyed her like she'd gone mad.

"They gave you a Time Turner in third year? Just to get to all your lessons, rather than forcing you to pick only as many as are accessible on a regular timetable?" he scoffed. "Fucking hell, you Gryffindors really  _are_  the teachers' favourites, you know that, yeah?"

"Don't be bitter, Malfoy."

"I wanted to take more classes in third year, you know," he grumbled. "But I was told that it would be too much of a workload and to forget the notion. They made me pick as many as my timetable could hold and told me to forget the rest."

"Yes, but I'm cleverer than you," she said, sounding smug as she turned the doorknob of a classroom at the very end of the corridor before leading him inside a long-forgotten classroom. The dust was thick upon the few remaining desks that were stacked up, dust bunnies gathering in the corners, undisturbed.

Draco's nose twitched at the choking scent of dust cloying the still air, and he noted idly that despite the layers of decay, there was a well-trodden path leading across the classroom floor and up the stairs that must lead to the teacher's quarters she'd spoken of.

"Cleverer?" he scoffed. "You're  _maybe_  a few percentiles ahead of me in class and that's  _only_  because I, unlike you, have to actually grind every fucking grade out of the teachers because I was sorted into Slytherin, rather than Gryffindor and the biased wankers can't stand the thought that I might be smarter than their golden girl."

"Are you insinuating I don't deserve the grades I get?" she demanded, halting abruptly and looking very much like his answer could be a deal breaker if he didn't tread carefully.

"I'm saying that no matter how much information you cram into our essays, and no matter how often you go off on tangents and don't keep to the topic at hand, and how often you just regurgitate information from the textbook rather than extrapolating the information concisely,  _you_  don't get marked down for those things by anyone other than Snape.  _I_ , on the other hand, get fucking blistered if I go a single line over the word limit or a half-inch over the prescribed length. Where  _you_  get to skate through, regardless of your cleverness, because you're the teacher's bloody pet and you answer every sodding question in every bloody class, me and the rest of my friends have to bloody  _earn_  every percentile of a grade, and even then, the teachers rake through our work looking for any reason to mark us down to make sure that  _you_  remain the head of the class."

She blinked at him before narrowing her eyes.

"Rubbish," she declared, yanking her hand out of her grip and shoving over the door that led to what must surely be her sodding nest.

The entire room of the teaching quarters had been taken over by the haughty Gryffindor girl. That much was clear from the fact that while the classroom beyond was overflowing with dust, this room was spotless. An antique mahogany desk gleamed in the middle of the office, strewn though it was with text books, inkwells, parchment and screwed up bits of parchment. It was clear to Draco suddenly that the witch must have been spending a good deal of time locked away in here. She'd made herself right at home, by the looks of things.

"You don't believe me?" he challenged, spying a doorway off the main office that clearly led to the sleeping quarters. The door was open and the bed inside was made, topped with a thick, brightly patterned woollen blanket. It was more than obvious that she'd spent many a night sleeping here, rather than up in her dormitory with her dorm-mates. Draco wondered if it was because it meant she was less likely to be caught out after curfew when she was booted out of the library at closing time each night.

"Of course, I don't believe you. The teachers, excluding Professor Snape, are always fair and unbiased. They are above House rivalry outside the Quidditch pitch, I'm sure."

"Delusional, as well as conceited," he accused, though he couldn't help smirking a little when Granger propped her hands on her hips and glared at him across the office while the hearth fire flickered to life. "Really think you're  _that_  clever, do you?"

"Compared to you?" she replied. "Yes. I do."

"Alright fine, why don't be swap essays?" Draco challenged. "The one McGonagall gave back today. You read mine and I'll read yours. They're already marked, so you don't need to turn your nose up at the idea of anyone cheating off you."

"I hardly have it on me," she rolled her eyes.

"Well, I didn't bloody mean  _now_ , did I?" Draco scoffed. "I have matters a bit more pressing to see to where you're concerned, just now."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously while Draco made something of a show out of swaggering into the bedroom and dropping down to sit on top of her knitted blanket. From the few little mistakes of missed loops and pulled threads, in addition to the slightly uneven tension of the woollen stitching, Draco suspected she'd knitted herself when she'd been practicing and getting the hang of the craft. From the way her cheeks cut crimson all over again, and the recalcitrant way she levelled him a hateful look whilst refusing to join him, Draco suspected she'd forgotten that she'd invited the big bad wolf into her lair, and that he was planning to devour her just as soon as he could get his paws on her.

"This is a bad idea," she said, refusing to budge.

"You don't want to do it on the bed?" Draco asked, unable to keep from teasing her when she got that stubborn glint in her eyes and that obdurate set to her jaw. Obstinate cow. "I can fuck you on that gleaming desk, if you'd prefer? It's all the same to me, Granger. Either way, you'll be on your hands and knees with me wrapped around you."

"I'm  _not_  about to turn my back on you and just let you have your way, Malfoy," she said, her eyes narrowing as she stomped closer, intent on arguing with him.

"What did you think I was going to do when  _claiming_  you, Granger?" he smirked. "I'm a  _wolf._  I'm going to rut you like one."

"You're not going to  _rut_  me at all, thank you very much," she hissed, crossing the threshold into the bedroom.

Despite the fact that it was her private haven, and that the room whispered of her sweet scent; despite this being  _her_  domain, Draco found himself feeling very much like the patient spider and she, the unwitting fly who'd just flown into his web. She seemed to feel it too, because she stopped short in her stomp toward him, intent on getting in his face and reminding him that she wasn't afraid of him – that she'd  _never_  be afraid of the foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach whose nose she'd once broken.

Only, Draco wasn't a spider. Or a cockroach. Or a wimpy little ferret. Draco Malfoy was a wolf. A  _werewolf_. And she was the only prey fate dictated would ever be his. She was the witch to his wizard, the woman to his man, the bitch to his wolf. She was his, and he  _would_  have her however he saw fit.

Raising one eyebrow in silent challenge, Draco didn't move, sensing the way her scent suddenly soured with the faintest traces of fear, nervousness emitting from her in waves. He could hear the way her heart rate increased, and he caught the ways she took a miniscule step back from him when it occurred to her that he was a predator and she was his prey.

"Malfoy," she warned quietly, losing the defiant look in her eyes as uncertain febrility suffused her. He could almost see the way it weighed on her slim frame, threatening to pull her to her knees when they began to quake, just a little.

It ought to have pleased him, having power like that. It ought to have made him feel triumphant to know that with a single look, he could make her weak-kneed and apprehensive. This brave girl who aligned herself with Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix was just a little fearful in his presence and that ought to have made the spiteful bastard in him cheer.

But it didn't.

The wolf inside his chest wanted her submission, not her terror. He wanted her adoration, not her tolerance. He wanted her inclination, not her resignation.

"I…" she opened her mouth before he could even begin to think of the right thing to say that would put her at ease. He had never been a boy who concerned himself with the happiness or the comfort of others, and he hadn't a clue how to offer reassurance in the face of trepidation.

"I've never done this," she whispered uncertainly, her eyes darting from his face to his groin, and then to the bed behind him. She looked nervous. She looked a little frightened. But she looked a little curious, too. "Have… have you?"

Draco didn't know if he should smile or frown, trying to figure out how to put her at ease and wondering if his answer would do so, or if it would just make things worse.

"Um… once," he admitted, his cheeks warming slightly when her eyes snapped back to his face, widening in surprise. He wondered if it was surprise that he wasn't a virgin, or surprise that he wasn't a slag, no matter the rumours getting around.

"Oh," she said, seeming to be unsure just what to do with the information she'd asked for now that she had it. "Um… well that's… good… then, I suppose. It's probably best if one of us knows what to do. Though I confess, I think I'd have been intimidated if the rumours about you were true, you know? I don't imagine I'll… erm… be very good. And I'm rambling. I should shut it. But I can't. I ramble when I'm nervous and when you look at me like that I feel nervous. Nervous like the last chicken alive in the coop once the fox has gotten in, and the little hen knows he's there  _somewhere_ , just waiting to rip her head right off and, Merlin, please don't rip my head off, and don't say things like that you're planning to bend me over the desk and  _rut_  me because I honestly think it's going to hurt and it's going to sting and it's going to be terribly uncomfortable because, honestly, I can hardly stand you and this is all just such a mess. And when I get back to the Common room, Harry will be waiting, and he'll have told Ron and probably Ginny, by now, about what he saw in the corridor and they'll  _know_ , you know? They'll know, and they'll want an explanation and I'm going to have to tell them you're a werewolf, and a Death Eater, and I'm your mate even though you're a right bloody git and a sod, and a prejudiced, bigoted arse and I've been wanting to slap you almost every day since that time I slapped you in third year and they're going to get in my face and yell at me, and Merlin, I can't let you see me in my knickers, let alone without them. And why is it so bright in here. I think I'd have preferred the corridor. It was darker there, and you wouldn't have been able to see that I forgot to shave my legs this morning, and I haven't tidied up  _other_ areas of my body that you're planning to get acquainted with, and this would've been hard enough with some I loved and trusted, let alone with someone I can't stand. And are you  _really_  sure that I'm you mate? Because I don't think I'm your mate. You're supposed to be with someone snotty and pompous and bigoted. Someone who doesn't chatter incessantly when she's nervous and someone who actually likes you, rather than someone who will basically be signing her own social death certificate the minute she walks out of this room. Which is what will happen because when he's finished yelling, Harry might actually murder me, especially if he thinks it will hurt you, and I just…."

Draco cut off the incessant stream of words spilling out of her mouth at such a rapid pace that his head was almost spinning, and he wondered how she could breath when she'd barely paused to draw breath even once. He lurched to his feet and crossed the small distance between them, seizing her shoulders and planting his lips on hers before she could actually talk them both into exhaustion.

He had more exciting plans for her busy little mouth, anyway. She squeaked against his lips, her brow furrowing and her whole body attempting to recoil in surprise at the sudden assault, but Draco held her firm, waiting for her to realise that it would be better this way. They needed to get this done, and she was right. They weren't well-suited, and it was going to be awkward no matter what he did. He couldn't deny that though she was his mate, she was also someone who annoyed the stuffing out of him in the day to day dealings they had. No amount of fated bondage was going to change that.

This would be awkward. It was probably going to hurt, because she was tense and scared and embarrassed and utterly uncomfortable and Draco's mind raced as he tried to think of things he could do to make this better, to make it easier for her.

"You're still covered in blood," she muttered against his lips after a few minutes of tentative kissing.

Draco frowned, pulled back a little and glancing down at himself.

She was right. His shirt was stained crimson from where she'd stabbed him, and Draco sighed, realising that she was covered in his blood too, thanks to the way she'd clung to him in the corridor to keep him from attacking Potter.

"Is the wound healed?" she asked, stepping back out of his hold as far as he allowed.

"So eager to get me out of my shirt, Granger?" he couldn't help needling her, smirking just a little.

She narrowed her eyes on him and crossed her arms over her chest, looking even more uncomfortable and Draco sighed again, wondering if things would ever get any easier with her. Running a hand through his hair, he didn't bother making a show of things before pulling his shirt off over his head and revealing his torso to her gaze. Not that either of them could focus on his more pleasing parts when they caught an eyeful of the wretched bloodstains marring his alabaster flesh, in addition to the large gash between his ribs where she'd stabbed him.

"Oh, dear," she sighed, stepping closer and surprising him when she didn't seem uncomfortable or nervous to be seeing his shirtless.

It occurred to him that, having two male best friends who played Quidditch regularly meant she was probably used to the sight of muscle, bare chests. Draco clamped down on the urge he had to growl at the very thought of her being in the same room with a half-naked Potter or Weasley.

"I think I might have something that could help heal this," she told him, touching the inflamed flesh inquisitively and making a face when the wound seeped a little. "Is it still affecting your breathing, or has it healed internally enough that you're not terribly uncomfortable?"

Draco shrugged. "I'll live, Granger."

"Obviously," she muttered, and Draco had never heard the unspoken ' _unfortunately_ ' in anyone's tone quite so clearly before.

She turned away from him, moving toward the bedside table and digging inside of it before holding up a small bottle of dittany and looing mildly triumphant.

"This should speed up the healing process."

"And hurt like fuck," Draco asked, stepping back whilst eyeing the bottle like the torture device it happened to be.

"Nonsense," she said. "Dittany heals wounds. It barely even stings."

"Barely stings you, witch," Draco argued. "I'm a werewolf. Treating a wound inflicted with silver by applying dittany will be like the torture of being healed from the bites that infected me in the first place, all over again. And I screamed bloody murder when my Mother and Father held me down and forced that silver and dittany paste into my wounds after I was bitten. Trust me, Granger, you're not strong enough to pin me down now."

"You're being a child," she huffed. "Come over here, and wash the blood off, at least."

She beckoned him into the bathroom off the sleeping quarters and Draco narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he followed her. When he entered the bathroom, she was wringing out a wash cloth with warm water and she turned to him, not even seeming to think about it as she invaded his space, standing close enough that he could spot a broken twig tangled in her curls from when he'd chased her through the forest. She didn't ask permission before swiping the cloth over his bloodied skin, rubbing hard at the stubborn spots where it had dried.

Draco stood still, trying to ignore the erection throbbing in his pants and the urge he had to thread his hands through all of those curls before stealing another kiss from her lips.

"I can't believe you actually stabbed me," he said when the tension between them grew unbearable as she worked to rid his skin of the blood stains, carefully bathing the edges of the stab wound she'd created.

"I can't believe you challenged me and  _let_  me stab you," she replied quietly. "You're supposed to have a stronger sense of self preservation than that, Malfoy. How are you going to survive wearing  _this_ , if you're so willing to let other people hurt you?"

She grabbed his left forearm, squeezing it tightly and Draco realised with a jolt that he'd been so fascinated by her presence and her reaction to seeing him shirtless that he'd completely forgotten about the need to hide his Dark Mark.

"You think wearing that means I have to do anything  _other_  than holding still and letting people hurt me?" he asked in a low voice and Granger's head snapped up in surprise.

"He tortures you?" she asked, frowning at him.

Draco shrugged his shoulders.

"He tortures everyone who displeases him," Draco said. "It was no accident that I was bitten, you know? He insisted on it to punish my Father for failing to bring him the prophecy when you lot got in the way in the Department of Mysteries in June."

"You're saying it's my fault you're a werewolf?" she asked defensively, frowning at him.

Draco sighed. For a long time after he'd been bitten he'd blamed Potter and Weasley and Grange for his being a werewolf.

"It's my Father's fault," he admitted. "If he hadn't aligned himself with the Dark Lord long before we were even born, I'd never have been bitten. You lot played your role, to be sure, but it's Father's fault for joining the Dark Lord to begin with, and for letting a bunch of teenagers outwit him. But yes, I blamed you, for a time after I was bitten. I blamed everyone. To make matters worse, I'm expected to smile and thank the Dark Lord on bended knee for his  _mercy_. He'd have rather enjoyed killing me, I think, but knew that making me a half-breed monster would be a more lasting and less reconcilable punishment for my father's failures."

She didn't seem to know what to say to that, because she stayed silent, lowering her eyes back to his chest and returning to the process of cleaning the blood from his skin. Draco held his tongue, watching her quietly and letting her clean him up as best she could. The awkwardness stretched once more, soured now from sexual tension into simmering dislike for one another that just didn't seem like it would ever end.

"This is why I quit Divination, you know?" she said when she'd cleaned his chest and stomach so thoroughly that the only spot of blood remaining was the fain red splotch seeping from the gash on his chest. "The idea that some high power, or some crazy old woman with a shawl can dictate my fate is beyond ludicrous. You and I aren't compatible, Malfoy. You're a Death Eater. I'm a member of the Order of the Phoenix, we're at war and you and I are on different sides of it. I'm sure that your wolf is mistaken, and that you just need to get laid by someone who isn't me. You've only got this idea that it's me because of that mess in the forest when I was transformed, and because your wolf was pleased to find another soul in the world not intent on being cruel to him."

She was breathing hard when she finished her impassioned tirade and Draco hated the way his cock throbbed as he watched her, even knowing that every word coming out of her moth was wrong – for perhaps the first time in her life.

"You  _know_  that's complete bollocks, don't you?" Draco asked, raising his eyes to hers and staring her down, forcing her to hold his gaze with his fingers under her chin when she tried to look away once more. "You're it for me, Granger. Like it or not. Enemies of war, or not. Bitter, ill-matched arseholes or not. You and I are doomed to be with one another. Don't make this harder than it has to be by continuing to fight, or trying to run again, or arguing bitterly that it simply cannot be, and that there's no such thing as kismet. You're my wolf-mate. You will be until the day we both die. There's no way around that. Believe me, I've tried to wriggle, bargain, argue and weasel my way out of this, Granger. I tried shagging someone else in the hopes that it would bloody dislodge my wolf's obsession with you, and I nearly bloody killed her when my wolf took issue with the idea of me touching any witch who wasn't you. Do you understand? I almost killed someone in the hopes that  _this_  wasn't set in stone."

Her eyes widened in surprise and she furrowed her brow at him.

"Who?" she asked, and Draco wondered if she was jealous, or concerned for the welfare of the other girl.

"Jealous?" he asked.

She fixed hi a deadpan glare and Draco sighed, wondering if there might ever be a day when his sense of humour would amuse her, rather than annoying her. Running a hand through his hair and looking away for a long moment, Draco tried to keep from reliving the memories of what he'd done to that poor girl.

"Daphne Greengrass," he admitted quietly, almost not daring to look at Granger.

"She's been fine all year," Granger pointed out, frowning.

Draco looed back at her, his brow furrowing.

"You and your precious Gryffindors really have  _no clue_  about what goes on with those of us you consider your enemies, do you?" he asked. "Daphne hasn't been  _fine_  all year. She's been under the Imperious curse for more than a month while her body is still healing to prevent her from suffering through the agony and shame of healing from what I did to her."

"You're been using the Imperious curse on her?" Granger gasped, her eyes widening as she took a small step back from him. "That's one of the Unforgiveable curses, Malfoy! You'll be thrown in Azkaban if you're caught!"

Draco's mouth twisted in a bitter caricature of a smile and he laughed coldly before holding his forearm up, Dark Mark facing outward, right in front of her face.

"I'm a Death Eater, Granger," he sneered. "The Imperious is the  _least_  of the criminal things I've done and will be commanded to do in future until such time as the Dark Lord falls."

She looked utterly horrified.

"What did you do to Daphne that you thought this was the only way to handle it?" she hissed, stepping back even further, actually manoeuvring herself right out of the bathroom to prevent him from trapping her against the sink.

"I mauled her, Granger," Draco admitted angrily. "Midway through shagging her, I fucking mauled her! Her back is  _all_  torn up after I scratched her with my claws out and then I bit her and tore into her the same way a rabid wolf tears into fucking everything. I  _destroyed_  her body aesthetically and almost tore her fucking throat out."

"She doesn't look any different?" Granger argued, clearly confused.

"Because I've been using glamour charms to keep her and everyone else from figuring out that she almost bled out in my bathroom at the Manor. She's going to spend the rest of her life, when I lift the glamour charms and lift the Imperious curse, trying to figure out what happened to her and how she survived an attack like that. I even modified her fucking memory to keep her from fearing me and from figuring out I'm a werewolf. Under those glamours she's covered in slashes and bite marks. Some of them  _still_  haven't healed completely because I wounded her so deeply when my wolf took control and took issue with her not being you!"

Granger's face was pale, and she looked terrified of him. Draco knew he'd said too much the minute she took another step back, obviously intending to make a run for it, and he growled under his breath, closing his eyes and reaching for patience and the will not to do something he'd regret.

"Don't run again, Granger," he warned her quietly without opening his eyes.

She ran.

And Draco had no choice but to chase her.


	15. Chapter 15

Hermione panicked, jack-rabbiting across the room, intent on making it out the door and running for it before Malfoy could do anything to her that might leave her covered in bites and scratches, held under the Imperious curse and covered in glamours with her memory modified. She didn't want to end up like Greengrass. What if Malfoy was wrong? What if they weren't mates and he just ended up mauling her, too. She couldn't stand the thought, and she couldn't bear the sight of the terrible black Dark Mark marring his smooth skin, and she kind of wished she hadn't missed his heart with her dagger, after all.

Part of her knew it was useless to run. She was going to be caught. Even if she slipped her skin this very moment, he'd catch her, and she'd bet he knew the spell to force the Animagus transformation to reverse. He was going to claim her, just as Remus and Sirius had warned her he would, and she cursed Ronan, too, for giving her the false sense of hope that she'd meet her demise in the forest, rather than in the secret rooms she used when she needed to escape her friends and her dorm-mates.

She didn't even make it across the office and to the door before Malfoy slammed into her from behind, strong arms encircling her small body and lifting her right off her feet. He was growling angrily, furious with her for disobeying his order and trying to run.

Hermione fought futilely, scratching his arms with her fingernails, trying to pull her dagger from where she kept it hidden. Her mind flooded with terror and her limbs were infused with adrenaline, but even those things couldn't help her to fight off a werewolf. Not even one in human form with a hole stabbed in his chest.

"Let me go!" Hermione shouted, kicking, writhing, squirming in his grip.

"Stop fighting," he commanded, and she almost did purely out of shock at the utterly deadpan tone in his voice.

He didn't sound angry, despite the growling. He didn't sound desperate, or annoyed, or hopeful. He just sounded resigned, knowing he had to claim her, knowing neither of them really wanted it. Knowing he was a monster. Hermione almost went limp in his hold, knowing there was no hope. He was going to claim her for his mate one way or the other and she now knew he wasn't above using force, if he had to.

Hermione's mind played the cliché line in the back of her skull;  _we can do it hard, or we can do it easy. What's it gonna be, bub?_

She felt sick. Knowing he was a Death Eater, knowing he'd used the Unforgivable curses on fellow students, and knowing that his wolf was riding him to claim her for his mate, Hermione knew she was in danger. He was stronger, faster, meaner, and far more calculating than she'd ever given him credit for, and she knew he wasn't going to let her leave this room until he'd fucked her. She knew that, being a virgin, it was going to hurt. Fighting him and being terrified would only make it hurt worse, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to run. She wanted to fight. She wanted to hex him into oblivion and bury her dagger in his heart.

She didn't want to be his mate and she didn't want to just lay down and let him fuck her, no matter the way her body had responded when he'd cut off her nervous rambling with that kiss.

"Granger," he warned when she kept fighting even as he dragged her across the room and to the bed.

Hermione clawed at him and bit him, fighting him the whole way when he shoved her down on the bed and flipped her to her back, pinning her wrists in his unforgiving grip and trapping her on top of the mattress, holding her body down with his heavier and stronger one.

"Get of me, Malfoy!" Hermione growled at him, fury pulsing through her skull and making magic crackle through her curls.

"Granger!" he shouted so loudly and with such lycanthropic magic pushed into it that she actually froze under him, hear heart pounding and her stomach flipping with fear.

He was breathing hard when she stared at him, wide eyed.

"I'm trying  _really hard_  not to turn this into something we'll both regret, Granger," he panted. "I don't want to pin you down and rape you, but I can't let you leave this room until I mark you as my mate."

"You can," she assured him. "Just let me go."

"No!" he snarled, his eyes flashing the gold of the wolf.

He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and reaching for control she was certain he didn't have. She felt the way his nails sharpened to claws like he might transform right there on top of her and Hermione gulped, fear permeating much of her anger and leaving her trembling.

"Don't you see?" he asked in a low, almost pained voice. "I have to do this. I have to mark you. Here. Now. If I let you run again, I'm just going to get you tomorrow. Maybe in class. Maybe in the Great Hall. Maybe down by the Quidditch Pitch or up on the Astronomy Tower. I don't know where, or when, but if I let you go now, I won't have the control not to jump you in public tomorrow. Not now that I've kissed you. Not when you agreed to do this back in the corridor and led me down here to this little sanctum."

"I agreed before finding out you were using an Unforgivable on a classmate after  _mauling_  her, Malfoy!" Hermione protested hotly. "What if you're wrong about me being your mate? What if it's not me, either? What if you maul me, too?"

"I won't," he informed her, his eyes snapping up to meet hers, is expression deadly serious. "It's you. I  _know_  it's you. What I did to Daph… I  _knew_  going into shagging her that she wasn't my mate, but I didn't know then who was. But I know now. I know it's you. You're it."

"And if you're wrong, I'll be disfigured at best, and dead at worst," Hermione argued. "Excuse me for not wanting to take that risk."

"It's not a risk," he growled. "And even if it were, you're not going anywhere until I've had you, witch."

Hermione recognised from the shift in his tone and the way his teeth sharpened to fangs, his eyes going fully gold, that the wolf inside his soul had just taken control of his human body. Hermione froze, holding perfectly still as she glared back at the werewolf, trying desperately to hide her fear.

"Don't fear me, precious mate," he whispered, his voice low and gravelly in a way that made her nervous.

"Please don't hurt me," Hermione whispered, her eyes filling with tears and her body struggling just a little as he leaned toward her, licking his lips and intent on biting her, or maybe kissing her.

"Never," he vowed in that low tone and Hermione hated the fact that despite her terror, there was something to that tone that made her body respond to him.

Unsure what to do, Hermione bit her lip and looked away, unwittingly exposing the side of her neck to his bite. He took full advantage and Hermione cried out as sharp teeth tore into tender flesh just hard enough to sting. It stung like hellfire, and Hermione hated him just a bit that in addition to the pain, a jolt of desire coursed through her so intensely, she lost her breath.

She didn't want to want this. She didn't want to be marked as his mate and she didn't want to be claimed by him. She didn't think she could stand having to put up with him as her significant other for the rest of her life and Hermione whimpered, closing her eyes as tears escaped when her back arched, her body bowing toward his, desperate for friction. In that moment she loathed magic and hated that she'd been born a witch. She couldn't bare the idea of being mated to him.

Squeezing her eyes shut, Hermione stopped bothering to try and fight him off. It was useless, she knew. He was stronger, and he was determined to end their suffering and to make the whole mess easier to deal with by claiming her. Hermione wondered how effective that was really going to be when he lifted off her just far enough to use his unsheathed claws to shred her clothing until he could peel her out of each garment with ease.

"Come on, Granger," she heard Malfoy muttered quietly when he resorted to kissing her neck and pressing himself on top of her, both of them naked.

Hermione shook her head from side to side, telling herself that if she just kept her eyes closed it would all be over soon.

"Blast it all, Granger! Don't be such a stubborn fool," he hissed, and Hermione's eyes snapped open to glare at him hatefully.

"Get off me!" Hermione spat in return, shoving at him angrily.

"I'm not letting your run again," he shook his head.

"Get off me or so help me, Malfoy, I'll stab you again. And this time I won't miss!" Hermione growled at him.

"You can't fight this, Granger," he shook his head. "Why are you making this harder than it needs to be?"

"Because I don't want to be stuck with you for the rest of my life," Hermione said, shoving at his shoulders before managing to bodily roll him off her across the bed.

Not that it was as effective as she hoped when he kept his tight hold of her and ended up dragging her across him until she was sprawled on top of him, instead.

"You don't have a choice," he told her. "Do you think I want to be stuck with you? Do you think my parents aren't going to bloody well disown me when they find out you're it for me, Granger? I don't want this any more than you do, but I also don't want to rape you at breakfast in the Great Hall tomorrow morning, so unless you actually fancy having the entire school see you're arse when you're on your hands and knees in front of all of them with me shagging you like some savage beast, then stop bloody crying about it, stop struggling and just bloody get on with it, alright?"

"Get on with it?" she spat. "Who do you imagine you're talking to, Malfoy? I'm not some painted whore to just spread my legs on command."

"No, but you're my fucking wolf-mate," he retorted.

"That doesn't make me some bitch in heat you can mount whenever you feel like it," Hermione growled, shoving at his hands where he still held her, trying to get him to release her so that she could get off him.

"I never said you were," he growled, looking beyond frustrated. "For fuck's sake, Granger, you were on board with getting this over with, so we could bloody move on with life before I mentioned Daph. Just fucking relax, would you?"

"Relax?" she hissed. "You mauled at girl, Malfoy. Excuse me for not wanting to be your next victim!"

Hermione squealed when he unleashed a feral growl like the wolf he could become, flipping her off of him and onto the bed once more.

He rose to his feet and paced a few steps away from her, snarling ferociously like he wanted to rip he throat out with his fangs.

"Are you actually this fucking thick?" he demanded when he turned to look at her, his fangs and claws free, his eyes canine-gold and unsettling with the way the skin around them had began to darken in his fury as his anger and his wolf threatened to overwhelm him once more. "You bloody well agreed to this, Granger. You were on board and even getting into it before I mentioned Daph."

"Because you just admitted to being a complete monster," Hermione said angrily.

"You haven't  _seen_  monstrous," Malfoy spat coldly, and Hermione got the feeling that he especially did  _not_  like being called one.

Not that she could entirely blame him. She knew she was being irrational, and that they needed to just get this over with, but she couldn't help it. She didn't fancy him, she certainly didn't like him, and she was scared of what he was going to do to her.

"Yes, that's what I'm afraid of," Hermione replied quietly. "You do understand that once we do this, there's no going back."

"I know," he nodded. "That's the point."

"That means that  _if_  by some miracle, we both survive the war, we'll be stuck together, Malfoy. If I ever want to have children, I'll have to have them with you. Is that really what you want?"

"Yes," he answered quietly, surprising her before she could go on to list all the other terrible side effects of them diving into this mess with one another, no matter how little they each wanted.

"Yes?" Hermione asked. "You just said you don't want to shag me or be with me… You can't just say that, yes, you want to have kids with me one day."

"You really have no concept of what being a werewolf means, Granger," Malfoy laughed bitterly. "I don't get a fucking choice. You were there in the bloody forest when I transformed, and you played with me like it was nothing and now you're all my wolf wants. Don't you understand that? What the human side of me wants doesn't fucking matter. The wolf is stronger, and the wolf  _will_  get what he wants, otherwise the human side of me pays the price at the next full moon. If you think what I did to Daphne was bad, it was nothing compared to what I did to myself – what the wolf inside me did to my human form – during the transformation that followed me shagging Daphne. Trust me, Granger. I wouldn't be willing to risk living through that hell ever again if I wasn't sure you're my mate."

"But how can you be sure?" Hermione asked, sitting up on the edge of the bed and glaring at him despite that fact that since tackling her to it, he'd managed to strip both of them down to just their knickers.

She could see every inch of his naked body and from the scars he wore, it was clear he'd been through something horribly painful. The idea that they were self-inflicted by his wolf in punishment for shagging Daphne made her head spin and she wondered how Malfoy hadn't just turned his wand on himself and tried to commit suicide if he had to contend with so ruthless a creature living inside his very skin.

Maybe he had.

She hardly knew him, after all, and she didn't imagine he'd be overly forthcoming with such information.

Malfoy laughed bitterly again at her question.

"Instinct, Granger," he replied. "There's a wild animal living under my skin ruled entirely by instinct. The instinct to mate, and the instinct to breed, and even the instinct to kill. It's not like the wolf is only in charge at the full moon. You've just seen what happens when he wrestles control from me even while I wear my human skin. He knows things that my human spirit is too stupid to grasp, the most pressing of which is that you are my mate and you will be until the day we both die. You will be the witch who carries my children. You will be the witch I marry, one day, when my parents finally come around and accept that their actions turned me into a werewolf, thus landing me with you. When I turn old and grey and the ravages of every full moon rip my aching human body apart, you'll be the witch at home in my bed, waiting for me to return when the sun rises once more. You're the witch that I have no choice but to follow to the ends of the Earth and beyond. If you run, I will chase you. If you hide, I will find you. If you die, I will destroy whoever is responsible for your death and likely follow you into the next great journey."

Hermione's breath caught inside her chest at the brutal honesty in his every word and she tried to gulp in another, desperate for oxygen to clear her mind and the calm her racing heart. Malfoy shook his head, looking away from her for a moment and running a hand through his hair in what might almost be embarrassment at the future he'd laid out before them that, it was clear, he was certain would be their fate. When he looked back at her, Hermione blinked, her eyes widening in surprise to see that one of his eyes was the cool, storm-cloud grey of his human heritage, while the other had turned completely lupine; the man and the wolf inside of him perfectly balanced in her presence within that moment. Two halves of the same whole sharing his body and sharing his soul.

The acceptance of both the man and the wolf aligning under a common goal was evident and Hermione knew, without a doubt, that he was telling the truth about the two of them being fated wolf-mates. Anything less would cause his wolf to overthrow his human counterpart, and had Malfoy not also accepted as a man that he was the witch for her, both his eyes would be gold, rather than just one. In a heartbeat she could see that man and wolf were at peace with one another. Both had made their choice; both wanted her and no one else. Her head spun at the very idea and had she not already been seated on the end of the bed, she was sure her knees would've given out beneath her as her mind began to swim, the floor swaying dizzily beneath her in her shock.

"You're it for me, Granger," he told her quietly, shrugging his shoulders and looking a little resigned, a little helpless, and a little like he desperately needed her to understand. "And whether you like it or not, I'm it for you, too."


End file.
